Song for Siddhartha

Prince Siddhartha, as well all know, left behind his title, lordship, and wealth to become a saint, in the quest for what we call today, enlightenement...

Having lived a life of luxury and splendour, and yet seeing no joy in it, Prince Siddhartha chose the path of renunciation. In the darkness of the night, when sleep shut the human eye, Prince Siddhartha silently crept out of his comfortable bed, knowing very well that once he embarked on this journey, he could never return back to his family, his inheritance...

Astride his favourite steer Kanthaka, unknown to anyone, Prince Siddhartha answered his call to Destiny, and finally achieved the status what we know him today as, the Gautama Buddha, the Bodhisattva...

Unknown to him, his charioteer Channa, his mentor and guide, watched him as Kanthaka pranced and circled around the palace gates thrice before taking final leave for good. We would like to imagine perhaps Channa sang a song similar to this as an ode to the future Bodhisattva...

In the darkness of the night,
You heed to destiny's call, o seeker of the light!
Leaving behind a child and wife,
Searching for an answer that'll fulfil this life...

Your path ahead will not be easy,
You have seen a life of women, wine and vice
Hunger'll stare you down, do not be queasy,
Begging and squirming for a few humble pice...

You know what's easy, you know what's right
You seek to challenge Fate's might!
May the Gods be with you in this fight
For you're the traveler of the night
Seeking to ascend from darkness to light!

Many afore you have this path tread,
What of their fate, people do dread
Carve out the path for all to see
Holy shall be thy name, glory shall be for thee

Kingship was in thy destiny,
A King's what you will be
Not just Kosala but all of Mankind you'll see...   

Your father tried his best,
To silence in you Destiny's unrest
But in the end his pain,
Shall be Mankind's salvation, shall be Mankind's gain...

To head out into the dark as you do, i could not dream nor dare,
For without me my family, would end up stark and bare!
With you may Fate, may Fate be kind and fair
And may you reach the hallowed heights,
The heights that even eagles don't dream or dare!

A glimpse into rural India - The yokel!

In order to write about someone, you need to do two things first and foremost. Stand in that person's shoes, and empathize with them, not sympathize. Often, writing a character sketch comes with the risk of becoming judgmental. Jugding someone based on what we understand is not at all justified, unless we're God, and i'm certainly not God! Anyways, now that i'm in deep water, i might as well swim with the sharks :)

It's been a while since i've been to this place, and the thought about writing about it did occur, but then Time and its endless tides buried it, and it would've remained there unless a fellow writer friend of mine didn't inspire me to take it up again. This time, as a character sketch!

How many of you'll have been to a village? By village, i mean a small settlement of humans far away from urban chaos, living a life of simplicity with little or no technical means. Of course, to find such settlements without electricity, concrete or running water is something of a rarity in rural Maharashtra. Nevertheless, the 'charm' or call it the 'bucolic lifestyle' persists to this day as it did a few hundred years ago!

Swargate at the wee hour of 03:00 AM

Hop into a bus at Swargate that heads for Gunjavane, and ask for the last stop. By bus i don't mean your AC Volvos or other modern monstrosities. The ubiquitous red and yellow known affectionately as'lal dabba', the State Transport (ST) bus is the lifeline of rural Maharashtra. I'm sure it's the case everywhere else in rural India, with some kind of bus service or the other. Coming back to the 'lal dabba', your co-passenger's bound to be a man wearing a white shirt and either a corresponding white pant or some other coloured trouser, or a loincloth! The head-dress would be a Gandhian cap which's an odd protection against the sun. I don't know what purpose does it serve, but it sure is worn by the locals. The Mumbai Police too has this cap for that matter!

Waiting till the End of Days!!

A rickety rackety affair is the lal dabba. Iron frames stuffed with coir or fibre or sometimes a bit of foam, covered with a rexine outer skin, peeling off most of the times, and a window that sometimes refuses to open unless Hercules himself comes down from Olympia and honours it!

You don't shut doors here, you slam 'em

The stops enroute your destination have funny names, or normal names that sound funny to you and me. Sometimes i do feel that living in my own land, i am as alien to it as much as a foreigner. Pennsylvania, Yorktown or New Hampshire are places we'd know more than some village just beyond the frontier land of Kalyan!! Speaking in a language that's foreign to my motherland, i take pride in the fact that i can converse with ease with a Caucasian even though i may never understand the plight of my rural brother. We are brothers born to the same mother, yet we both lead such different lives and never bother to even spare a thought about it.

Accents strange and bizarre play about as the waves on a rocky shore, and unless your ears are drowning in sound you call 'music', you'll certainly get a glimpse, small yet nevertheless a glimpse into the life of your rural kin.

As you peek out of the window if you're lucky to get one open, you'll see some sights that would leave your eyes slightly moist and a lump in your throat that refuses to die down. Rolling mountains, green meadows, vast treelines and perhaps a bird or two on a telegraph pole. Isn't this how it was all meant to be? Where did we falter, where is it that we went wrong, and brought upon ourselves the wrath of a juggernaut who'll die only when we cease to exist...

Bucolic, isn't it?

Was that the price we chose when we wanted 'better food' and modern 'amenities'...?

Come on now, quit being so pessimistic, and enjoy the serenity of the surroundings. Coming to the point of selecting Gunjavane, why are we going there? Well, it was the site of very many historic events, it was the capital of the erstwhile Maratha king Shivaji who rocked the Mughal empire from his roost atop Rajgad which is located at Gunjavane. Years rolled by, and the only difference between the people then and now is they wear shirts and trousers, live in brick houses, and claim with great pride, the presence of a relative in Mumbai or Pune. Yet, deep beneath the exterior beats the same simple heart that once pumped and bled for freedom from the grip of tyranny!

I could go on rambling and perhaps even overshoot Gunjavane and reach some other village perhaps, and the conductor calls out loud and clear "Wakey, wakey those among you'll who sleep.."

A devotee of Pandharpur

The paved tar road has long since given way to dirt track. No fault of yours for not knowing it, the bus would've rocked and rumbled even if you raced it on a Formula 1 track! Small dust clouds fly up when your feet hit the ground. And then you see him, under the shade of the lil' tea store looking as if he's expecting the end of days, or an absolution perhaps...

The man in question, and discussion

The eyes themselves they convey no emotion or feeling. Its as if you were staring at the ocean, they seem just as unfathomable even if you stare back for an eternity. Well, that's perhaps bucolic for you my friend!! Time matters little out here, and the only ruling factor is the season. Lives change dramatically if an expected rainfall did not materialize, or poured far too much more than was required. The people living here are farmers and our friend with them eyes as deep as the ocean is no doubt a farmer or someone who's livelihood is in one way or the other linked with agriculture.

Life's simple yet tough for those among us who choose to make a living off the land, err quite literally! Global warming, El Nino and La Nina are great words for us, and perhaps nothing more than jargon in our lives except when the traffic gets blocked in the city. Well, for our ol' timer and folks like him, they spell the difference between life and death.

Crop, credit, loan, daughter(s) to be married, the month end bankruptcy, alcohol abuse if any form a part of a vicious cycle which ensnares most people out here, and a dramatic change in the weather doesn't do them any good! Like i said before, my rural brother pays the price for my luxury...

Now you know why those eyes stare back emptily back at you when you look into them...

Time to move over amigo, the tea cup's long since emptied and we have a long way to go ahead. A day's worth of trekking, and hard climbing wait ahead for you. Hup, hup, hup...