Iread the humour and i thought of adding another episode of bhasama sami as under:"Once, there was a devoted disciple named Bhasma Sami, known for his unwavering faith in his guru. Bhasma Sami was always eager to learn and absorb the teachings of his revered master.
One day, Bhasma Sami approached his guru with a perplexed expression on his face. "Guruji," he said, "I've been practicing meditation diligently, but I still can't seem to quiet my mind. Thoughts keep popping up like wild monkeys!" The guru smiled knowingly and replied, "Ah, Bhasma Sami, the mind is indeed like a mischievous monkey, swinging from thought to thought. But fear not, my dear disciple. I have just the solution for you." Excitedly, Bhasma Sami leaned in, eager to hear the sage advice. The guru leaned in closer and whispered, "Bhasma Sami, when the monkeys of the mind chatter too loudly, simply give them some bananas!" Bhasma Sami looked puzzled. "Bananas, Guruji?" "Yes, my son," the guru chuckled. "Bananas! But not just any bananas. These bananas are the fruits of wisdom and laughter. Offer your mind the sweet nourishment of humor, and watch how effortlessly it settles." Bhasma Sami nodded, understanding dawning upon him. From that day forward, whenever his mind became overrun with noisy thoughts, he'd sprinkle a dash of humor into his practice, and lo and behold, the monkeys of the mind would quieten down, savoring the delightful bananas of laughter. And so, with humor as his ally, Bhasma Sami continued his spiritual journey, navigating the ups and downs of the monkey mind with a lighthearted smile. K Rajaram IRS 8324 On Thu, 7 Mar 2024 at 05:03, Laxminarayan Sarma < laxminarayan.sa...@gmail.com> wrote: > > B*hasmam 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*, *vellirikka*i (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 *Chitra*i (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 *edavappad*i (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. > > > > -- > You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups > "iyer123" group. > To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an > email to iyer123+unsubscr...@googlegroups.com. > To view this discussion on the web visit > https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/iyer123/CAEcNPKqCVSmV4jSBCUrqF1B-jZaMziTwb%3DofyBpE_hMHKxkVnw%40mail.gmail.com > <https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/iyer123/CAEcNPKqCVSmV4jSBCUrqF1B-jZaMziTwb%3DofyBpE_hMHKxkVnw%40mail.gmail.com?utm_medium=email&utm_source=footer> > . > -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Thatha_Patty" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to thatha_patty+unsubscr...@googlegroups.com. 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