By G
Manjusainath Patriotism is in the air today. I woke up to the patriotic songs echoing from every corner of our vicinity. Today is August 15 and my parents say it's special for us Indians, as it’s the Independence Day. I have to compulsorily take bath irrespective of a bad cold with running nose, a problem I suffer from at least 150 days a year. Dressed in all white after bath, I am ready to catch the school bus that will arrive at least half-a-kilometre away from my place. I am content that at least on this day no one in the school would enquire me about the home work.
As the school bus moves on crossing one after another school, I wonder why our school is so orthodox and shies away from playing patriotic film songs in loud speakers much like other schools. "May be to prove we are different from others."
As I enter the school premises, I hear some strange songs being played from the loud speaker. It seems like a recorded voice of an elderly person. But no, the voice is of a young man Pt D V Paluskar, who died at the age of 34 in the early 1950s. I wonder why the youth sang like an old man; perhaps, the young man was groomed by an old master. In the process of emulating his master, the disciple would have started imitating him!
A thought now strikes me that Paluskar has a nasal voice just like my music teacher Palkar sir! Does our Palkar sir copy him? May be! But one thing I am pretty sure of is that Palkar sir cannot become Paluskar. I have a strong reason to substantiate my claim - he is short of two letters 'us'!
Having grown up listening to Carnatic and film music, the songs sung by Paluskar sound very strange to me. I don’t find them attractive. Even recording is unclear having background noise. I want to argue with my music teacher that what is the harm in playing patriotic songs sung by Mohammed Rafi or any other Hindi film playback singers when they sound more melodious than Paluskar? But I know Palkar sir would not take it in a good taste. Better to swallow the song like a bitter pill.
With these thoughts running in my mind, one of Paluskar’s songs begins shattering my image about him making me his fan forever. Flowing like the holy Ganges, 'Janakinath Sahay Karen' inundates me and I gradually find myself drowning in it.
I recall having heard this song on the banks of Ganges in Benaras. The beautiful ghats, sailing boats, canoes, people in its knee dip water offering Arghya to sun, children diving in its water, grand temples, swarms of monkeys ready to prey on gullible devotees with Prasad in their hands and the round the clock burning pyres, all have come alive.
Five years back, in 1983, my father had taken all of us - my mother and my three elder sisters- to Benaras. The scenic ghat of Benaras had overwhelmed my father so much that he simply lay straight to prostrate before Ganges. I was shocked. “How come without any deity he simply laid on the Ghat? And there are tears too in his eyes!”
When I enquired with him for his strange behaviour he replied that his act was in reverence of Goddess Ganga, who runs down the earth from the locks of Lord Shiva to cleanse the hearts of people.
After taking bath as we walked up the steps of the Ghat, we saw an ash-smeared Sadhu meditating in a corner. My emotionally charged father went near him and after bowing on his feet gave him 25 paise!
My father's largesse had made me think, “It's better to be a beggar than my father’s son. My pleas to my father had never fetched me more than five paise. On some very rare occasions father had given me 10 paise.
"Oh, 25 paise! What you can’t buy with it- A big kite, half the reel of kite-flying twine, at least ten 'chooran' sticks and 25 peppermints from 'Langde Ki Dukaan'? Or at least two Golgappas….."
With many thoughts running in my mind, I saw the Sadhu giving a pinch of ash to my father. Without giving a second thought my father put a little ash on his forehead and then swallowed a bit.
We had hardly moved a few steps when a girl in her early teens came to us and said, "You should not swallow the ash baba had given to you. Baba had collected this ash from the burning pyres at Manikarnika Ghat. There is no harm in applying this on the forehead but one should not gulp it."
Saying this, the young lace bolted away leaving my father frozen. It generated a lot of humour among us but laughing aloud would have earned my father's wrath. So we chuckled in low voice. My fuming father then stared at Sadhu as if he would snatch 25 paise he had given to him. But Sadhu looked at my father with a laugh. Suddenly he stood up and started dancing in joy as if he was conveying that the ultimate truth of our life is not more than a pinch of ash.
'Fly high or stoop low as much as you can, be generous or miser, intelligent or stupid, be a cheat or an honest, a believer or an atheist, a beggar or an emperor, a singer or a dumb- whatever you are, you can't escape pyre. Better realise it now. And scriptures say this is not the end. You are caught in a loop of life and death till you attain salvation. Crave for your ‘Independence Day’, the Sadhu had probably conveyed to us.
