Dear Mr Sarma,
Bhasmam Sami reveals the humorous writer in you. I read from first line to
last line with interest. All persons cannot be a writer or humorous writer. It
is a "varaprasadam".
There is nothing achieved by envying the writers. They are writers. I include
many QA postings of doctor Tiny Nair, famous cardiologist of Kerala. He is a
born writer to write on medical items with humor and simplicity.
Continue your publishing.Gopalakrishnan
On Thursday, 7 March, 2024 at 04:33:05 pm IST, Laxminarayan Sarma
<[email protected]> wrote:
Bhasmam Sami :Laxminarayan Sarma (this is from my collection of short stories,
"Palakkad Pattars and their times") - Curator
Friends You haven't heard d the last of Bhasmam Sami. No, this one is not
about his amorous exploits.
Bhasmam Sami, apart from being handsome, was also a man of great erudition,
intelligence and wit. He was endowed with a golden voice. His rendition of the
Bhagavad Geeta would transfix audiences. His pravachanams(preachings), full of
dramatic flourishes, made his lady audiences swoon. And left the men grinding
their teeth in anger, jealousy and frustration.
It was the month of Chitrai,(April month) a busy time for the agraharam
(Brahmin village) folks. The men were busy, from dawn to dusk preparing their
fields for the ensuing monsoon crop. The women were engaged in the myriad
preparations that marks this busiest season in the year. Vadumangai (tender
mangoes)had to be processed into pickles to last the whole year. Tonnes of
karuvadam (pretzels) dough had to be prepared and processed. Vadams(papadom)
had to be made. Tamaraikazangu (lotus flower stems)had to be procured from the
fast drying ponds in the neighbourhood, cleaned, sliced , steamed, salted and
dried
And all these, the vadam, karuvadam, tamarai kazangu, had to be vigilantly
protected from the thieving crows, daring cows and of course the boisterous
marauding urchins on school vacation who lurked in every corner of the village
right from the bathing tank and the river bank to the various fruit orchards
and the temple courtyards. The tamarind and the tuvara paruppu had to be
sunned. Elevan, vellirikkai (pumpkins) and other hardy vegetables had to be
bought from the nearby Vallangi chanduy (weekly itinerant market) and hung up
in urees in the kitchen to last through the monsoon.
Dusk brought in little respite for these bone weary women. All the stuff put
out to dry had to be hauled in. Everything had to be covered with
eetthapaai(date leaf mats) and weighted down with stones to safe-keep them from
the marauding rats at night.. The men too would return home dog-tired, perform
their sandhyavandanam, and retire indoors as soon as they heard the temple
melakaran�s hurried staccato beat on the maddalam (temple drum) marking the
end of deeparadhana (evening prayer) After a light meal, they would crash out
on the mats and surrender themselves to a sleep of the just.
Chitrai is also the month of utsavams (festivals )in the various temples. So
what with the hectic work at home and in the fields and with the lavish feasts
and the festivities at the utsavams, time flew along on gossamer wings.
It was during one such hectic Chitrai (April )month, that there came to the
village a giant of a North Indian Swami (holy man) . He measured 6�3� head to
toe. Some of us who were kids at the time felt he was the tallest man on earth.
And as we grew in age, his height too grew in our imagination. Kittu, the
postmaster�s son was ready to swear on everything he held holy, that the swami
was as tall and as huge as the arasa maram on the Ayappankavu grounds.
Many were the stories of the Swami�s prowess. He was reputed to be over 200
years old. People whispered in hushed voices that he could drag a herd of ten
elephants by a rope tied to his huge flowing beard. Some said he could recite
the entire bhagwatam front to back and front in a jiffy.
The swami used to hold court under a huge banyan tree on the riverbank. He
would sing bhajans and abhangs in a mellifluous voice. So naturally, the simple
village folk flocked to him in droves. Women of all castes---Iyer, Nair,
Pisharody, Nambiar ,Warrier --- virtually every single caste � mobbed the
swami. They heaped all kinds of goodies on him. They prostrated at his feet
seeking his blessings. They eagerly hung on to every word he spoke, every line
of every bhajan he sang. The elderly paaties fetched and warmed water for his
bath, massaged his feet, cooked his meals and fanned him while he slept. All
routine chores were abandoned. Life in the village, particularly of the devout
womenfolk, young and old, centered on the swami.
The gigantic swami basked in this adulation showered on him. He was enjoying
every moment of it. But after some time this adulation for the swami by their
womenfolk, left the men fuming. They felt neglected. Rejected. They were
seething with jealousy, anger and frustration. Their meals got delayed. They
stopped getting their �dikkri� kappee (cona coffee) on rime. Over all they got
despondent.
If this was the condition of the men folk in general, Bhasmam Sami�s
frustration was manifold. Women no longer flocked to his bhajans, readings and
pravachanams. His Nair and Warrier and Menon paramours �were down with
headaches�. Life in general was a question for Bhasmam Sami. He wondered � Is
life worth living?�
The village grocer Chami Mannadiar used be very deferential towards Bhasmam
Sami. But now the Sami discerned a slight disrespect, a bit if sarcasm in his
tone. The throng of pattar idlers at the Komala Vilas Brahmana Kaaapee Hotel
treated him with mock pity. Azwaar (temple priest) Kunjambi at the temple who
was Bhasmam Sami�s frustrated rival in the pursuit of amour, leered at him
triumphantly whenever he visited the temple. But the last straw that broke the
camel�s back was Bombai
Vadhyar�s (the village�s Bombay returned priest), remark, �anna, ommodu
Brahma tejas koranjundu waradu�. (Brother, your radiance is setting)
These words set Bhasmam Sami thinking. He had lost his cheerful countenance.
He moved around sulking. Frown lines appeared on his otherwise smooth forehead.
Somehow or the other he must drive away this imposter, this rival, this fraud
of a North Indian Swami, who had made life virtual hell for him.
� Hell hath no fury greater than a woman scorned � said the Bard of Avon.
But soon the village discovered that hell hath no fury than a Sami scorned�
Bhasmam Sami could not obviously use his great physical strength to challenge
the Swami to a wrestling bout. The Swami�s build did not assure him of a
favourable outcome of such a strategy. The concept of �supari�( hired) hitmen
was unheard of in those days. .But somewhere, sometime in his younger days he
had heard someone say, �use a thorn to remove a thorn�.
This idea appealed to Bhasmam Sami immensely. Isolating himself in the
matchu(upstairs bedroom) of his home, he put all his grey cells at work for
three days. He at last discovered a strategy.
�Eureka� he would have shouted, had he been Archimedes. But Bhasmam Sami knew
only Malayalam. Chroniclers of the time have not recorded the exact words he
used to announce his discovery.
Very soon, Bhasmam Sami regained his usual cheerful demeanour. He chatted
amiably with the kavarai woman who sold the palm leaf hand fans, the kuruvattis
and the morams at the weekly chandhai(market).. He did not seem to mind the
sarcastic darts and arrows the idle pattars of the village aimed at him.
The insomniac octogenarian Burma Paattee, (a widow who had spent time in
Rangoon with her husband) very often saw him visiting Kunjali Hamsa, a timber
merchant, in the dead of night. Kunjali lived close to the Ayappan Kavu on the
other side of which was located Burma Paattee�s house. She heard him holding
animated discussions with Kunjali and his brother Moiddeen Kutty.
She was sure, she told her coterie of patties, it was not about another
sambandam at the Muslim�s house. Muslims never tolerated pattars poaching upon
their women. Nor the pattars, not even Bhasmam Sami, ever dare cast even a
single covetous glance at Muslim women.
In the meantime, the first edavappadi (April) rains had hit the village. The
monsoons had set in earlier than usual that year. Very soon, the ponds in the
village started overflowing. The Gayatri river was in torrent. The North
Indian swami however continued holding court under the riverside banyan l tree.
The villagers had erected a pandal for him. And women still mobbed him.
It was then that Bhasmam Sami declared that he possessed powers greater than
that of the North Indian Swami. Not only could he match the Swami feat for feat
but also he could outdo him.
Bhasmam Sami then announced that his ishta devata (preferred deity),
Muniansami of Chaattanpaara had appeared to him in dream and taught him the art
of levitation or walking on water. He announced that he would walk over the
Ayappankavu tank that avaniavittam(monsoon festival) day.
Of course this was taken with a pinch of salt. Shankunni Nair , the local
Communist party neta ridiculed him during a panchayat election meeting. The
young Turks studying in Palakkad�s Maharaja�s college heckled him. The
visiting-on-holiday Rs.175 per month earning stenographer working with the
solicitor�s firm Robertson, Craigie, Blunt, McDuff and Batliwalla in Bombay
called him a fraud. But this did not seem to make any difference to Bhasmam
Sami. He had his own bunch of votaries. The Komala Vilas Brahmana Kaappee
Hotel�s owner, a distant relative, was one of them. Unni Panickker who had
borrowed money from him, was another one.
The monsoons had left the entire village flooded . The roads were slushy. And
life was confined to performing the routine chores. The whole village waited
with bated breath for the day of reckoning.
At last the day arrived. People hurried through their avaniavittam routine.
Even the lavish aviniavittam feast was gulped down in a hurry. The entire
village started taking vantage positions around the Ayapankavu tank.
As the Kolaham (palace) clock striking three resounded over the village,.
Bhasmam Sami, dressed in a zari-laced panchakacham with an angavastram of equal
splendour, with his forehead smeared in his trademark bhasmam (vihhooti)
(sacred ashes) arrived on the scene in a procession.
Chokkan, the temple melakaran with his full nadasswaram entourage headed the
procession. Several important people in the village, big and small followed
Bhasman Sami. And the unsoaped of the village (apologies to Charles Dickens)
including the coolies at the bus stop, the hangers on at the railway station
and the waifs and wastrels, brought up the rear, shouting slogans and generally
making themselves merry . The local chroniclers have not recorded whether the
free toddy at Gunasekhara Thevar�s shop, funded by Bhasmam Sami, contributed to
the merriment..
Azwar Kunjambi welcomed Bhasmam Sami with a poornakumbham (holy symbols of
royal welcome). The nadaswarams and the thavils (musical pipes and drums)
reached a crescendo. And Bhasmam Sami climbed the parapet of the tank. He stood
there for a moment. He folded his hands, shut his eyes for a few moments as if
in prayer. Then he turned around in the direction of the women who formed a
sizable portion of the crowd and did pranams ( salutations) to them.
Very soon, Bhasmam Sami started walking over the water, gingerly like a cat..
He hurried across, his feet skimming over the tank�s surface. Meantime the
crowd which had fallen silent, broke into wild cheers. He reached the opposite
end of the tank and returned to the starting point to a hysterically shouting
crowd which lost no time in grabbing and chairing him back in a wild and unruly
procession across the village streets and the neighbouring tharas.
It doesn�t need great foresight to observe that the North Indian swami had
done the vanishing trick. And the Bombay stenographer cut short his leave and
returned to his single room apartment in Matunga and to his typewriter in
Robertson, Craigie, Blunt, McDuff and Batliwalla. And Bhasmam Sami again became
the darling of the womenfolk of the village.
But does the story end here? Wait. Don�t be impatient.
The rains ceased. The bone chilling, mad, palakkadan (or Koduvayur)
winds(cold seasonal winds in November December from the Palakkad mountains)
began whipping the village. Bhajan groups singing ashtapatis (musical prayers)
started moving around the village in the wee hours of the morning. Soon the
cold winds gave way to the searing heat that Palakkad is notorious for. Water
bodies started shrinking. Levels of ponds started going down.
Our Burma paattee,(the old lady from Burma) the insomniac widow, was an
early bather at the Ayappan kavu tank. That particular morning when she visited
the tank, the full moon was shining in all its glory. And in the moonlight was
outlined a rough six inch wide bridge made of wooden planks straddling across
the tank from one end to the other. The rising sun soon made things clearer not
only for our Burma paatee but to all other bathers.
What do you think was the public reaction? Did they feel cheated by Bhasmam
Sami? Did they call him a fraud? Did they believe that it was a dirty tantrik
trick (erecting the wooden bridge across the tank) played by the North Indian
swami to defame their Bhasmam Sami. Or did they subscribe to the widely held
view that it was a miracle performed by Bhasmam Sami�s ishta devata Muniansami
of Chattanpaara. The chroniclers are silent in this regard. But the chroniclers
have definitely recorded that Bhasmam Sami lived a highly popular and respected
figure till the ripe old age of ninety-two. And the chroniclers assure us that
there was not a single illam, tharavad or manai from which the moaning of
womenfolk could not be heard the day Bhasmam Sami kicked the bucket.
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