Mr Gopala How well you predict your future Vinasha kale vipareeta buddhi of
u. ? Certainly you are heading towaRDS IT. nARAYANASAMY IS CERTAINLY ZERO
SINCE IN 2 DECADES EXCEPT ABUSING EVERY ONE, HE WROTE NOTHING ? aND WHAT IS
THE USE OF DOING parayanam of KYV for a week when his writings are only
blisters. Except two of you all know who is who. Thank you Gopala; out of
irritation, frustrations, getting hard punches, you 3 are trying all
juggleries but of no avail. We are busier and we have a long way to go; we
include all whom you are mentioning as a lip-service only, as an orphan;
behave like a grown up; and dont write from kids and your lamenting ,
prostrating kids' stuff. Read all that i write and some change in you may
occur  Thank you  K Rajaram  IRS  8324

On Thu, 7 Mar 2024 at 22:28, gopala krishnan <[email protected]> wrote:

> Mr Rajaram,
>
> Today morning only I wrote to you. Every member in the groups have equal
> caliber. In the case of Mr revered Narayanaswamy, his caliber is much much
> more than you. All members in the group know it.
>
> If his knowledge is zero, your knowledge is
> *-0. Please do not ask   highly caliber persons  for a fight. Only thing I
> can say is - Vinasakale Vipareetha buddhi. *
>
> *Gopalakrishnan*
>
> On Friday, 8 March, 2024 at 08:28:23 am IST, Rajaram Krishnamurthy <
> [email protected]> wrote:
>
>
> Te ppayal rudraksha poonai is Naragal narayanasmy whose knowledge is
> absolute  Zero. Evidence are too many. All have to know about the kapada
> veshadari narayansamy. Matta karuppan singapooran cannot even eat banana
> What he practiced all these years are restricted continuous pettai language
> only Knowledge of anytyhing is BIG ZERO Had he any worth he would not
> behave all these years with all allmost. So do not open your parts of
> speech muddy fellow  K R IRS 8324
>
> ---------- Forwarded message ---------
> From: *Narayanaswamy Iyer* <[email protected]>
> Date: Thu, 7 Mar 2024 at 20:49
> Subject: Re: [iyer123] Bhasmam Sami - A short Story
> To: iyer <[email protected]>, Laxminarayan Sarma <
> [email protected]>, Kerala iyer <[email protected]>,
> gopala krishnan <[email protected]>
> Cc: Narayanaswamy Iyer <[email protected]>
>
>
>
> Dear folks
>
> The monkeys jumping around, scratching their bottoms in the mind of our
> notorious blasphemer Rajaram K alias K Rajaram ex-IRS 8324 alias
> Karuppan-chaami will never be subdued by offering bananas.
>
> *No.  His jumping and jostling mind as a rudraaksha poonai will ever be
> populated by snarling and salivating tailless foxes which disturb him even
> when eating, sleeping and other unmentionable pursuits.*
>
> Humour is not a word in his vocabulary.
>
> S Narayanaswamy Iyer
>
> On Fri, Mar 8, 2024 at 12:22 AM Rajaram Krishnamurthy <
> [email protected]> wrote:
>
> 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 <
> [email protected]> 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.
>
>
>
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