Wednesday, June 28, 2006

My journey to our Ancestral House to find peace and my spritual roots - Day ONE

By the time I reached my village it was almost midnight. I found the serpent like road that was uncoiling before me and thought of the time when I used to take this same road with song on my lips and joy in my heart. Today, the journey had another meaning and it was sad to feel that the place my grandfather and my father poured sweat and blood to make a happy place, will not be there to receive me. The stars are shining so bright and thousands of it just waiting so near that I could almost touch them almost I wished for a shooting start to pass by and make my wish come true.

The small canal passed by and I saw my self playing in those refreshing waters just yesterday, will I be able to come back here again and play? The tarmac road changed to a dusty pathway the moment we crossed the small market near the school which my father helped with my uncle through donating land to one very famous Baba (Sadhu) whom we used to call Falahari Baba (The one who only ate fruits and vegetables which he was doing since his childhood) and he set up the small village school which now teaches 1000 village kids. The road took a bend and we bumped into the vast track of land that belonged to us. In the distance I could see the great double line of Jack Fruit trees which was looking too forlorn in the night sky. I remember we used to get very scared to come here in the night as it was supposed to be haunted. Now I felt no fear as its not the spirits that scare us but rather our own mind that does remain so possessive of our physical being getting harmed that it creates a panic in ourself about things unknown. I found that small running drain that accompanied the big canal that draws water from the Burhi Gandak ( A tributary to Ganges) and we moved to the bridge that joins my house to our land. The bridge remains same a mute spectator to many visitors and I could find that some bullock cart has broken the flat slab at the one end of it where we used to come and sit in the evenings talking to whole lot of people from my village and others passing through my village.

Just after the bridge the dusty path bend at 90 degree and my house and our most favored Durga Ji’s Temple or rather the Goddess Durga Ji’s most favorite household temple where She had decided to remain ( The temple is a very powerful one since my childhood I have been so attached to this temple that our fore father built and my father made the superstructure so that it is covered from rain and sun) came into view and I just bowed my head in prayer. I am here again and in her service and made a silent vow to come back here again soon once She finds me my footing and self respect.

The whole one acre of land in front of our house was set up with tents and sleeping cots and tables for food and at one corner there was the cook’s gang which was still at the middle of night preparing food or some stuff for the guests… I saw my brothers who have already reached there and for the first time I met my mother after the enlightenment of my father. She was looking weak and distraught and thank God that she did not broke into tears as I would have found it hard to contain mine. My younger brother who had come from hongkong came over and my elder brother who had been sitting our side taking care of things asked us to come over and have some tea.

I took one of my cousins a child hood friend along with me to look around in the night of the place and could find many things that still remained the same, the small litchi tree, that used to be our focal point for meetings in the evening as many of the villagers used to pass by this tree in the evening after the weekly market in the evening is closed. I also saw the well, where I used to have bath in tones of water Pitcher full, as our person used to make us bath in the childhood, is closed. The mud fell one season closing it forever and I felt sad. Many times sleeping under the neem tree that was in our courtyard next to the Durga Ji’s Temple, over looking the well, I found a beautiful lady in white clothes walking out of the temple and going over to the well to have water and come back. I still feel her presence even after so many decades have passed by today. Even now writing about it is making me feel her presence and my hairs are standing on its end and I find goose pimples all over my self. I asked my cousin to do something about it and restore the well as it has many memories of me, my brothers and my father. The mango tree that was next to it still stands and how refreshing is the memory that we used to climb at the top of it and how many times my brother came tumbling down from its peaks. But sadly the jasmine with all its scent has passed away in the memories lane.

I came back to my house and sat with brothers planning and thinking about things that needs to be done tomorrow and slowly the night passed away and we all left to sleep for whatever time the night has left for the day to walk in…

Om Namah Shivaya



Blogger Vami said...

Although this post has an air of sadness, i enjoyed it nevertheless. the description is excellent! keep them coming, someone is reading! thank you for sharing your experience. writing heals in more ways than one.

8:21 AM  

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