Is it to live a happy life or to escape from life?
Either way it does seem enticing.
Does every human being have a passion in life?
Many of us are taught from childhood that we should aspire to get a job that would give us livelihood and then work till we retire. Most of us take our talents and abilities undisclosed to our grave.
Blessed are those who get to live life as it comes, one day at a time spending every moment the way they wish to be! Some are born to be so.
In the small village where I was born and brought up, there were many such souls. Krishnarpanam was one of them. I do not know why he was called Krishnarpanam. It must have been Krishna + Arpanam (offering) or Krishna+Panam(money). He was the Velichapad (oracle) of the local temple. For every festive occasion, he would be there in front of the procession, dressed in red silk tied over the white dhoti, saffron on his forehead, dancing in frenzy with the deity’s sword in hand. He made a formidable sight with his pan stained teeth, long hair that reached his shoulder and his round bulging eyes.
This was only during the festivals and for other important days in the temple. Rest of the year he was just Krishnarpanam, a tall thin and fair man in his sixties, who walked the street in a white shirt and dhoti, stubble face and well oiled hair combed backwards. He was a chronic bachelor who roamed about during the day and spent his nights on the veranda of his sister’s hut.
You will now have in your mind, the image of a poor pious old man, who lived a frugal life. Wait a minute; he was a Velichapad alright, pious he must have been, and a frugal life he lived indeed but I know him in my childhood from his association with my father. I would find him standing at our gate when I run to see who was banging the Iron Gate. The Velichapad would be standing there with a broad smile and make believe veneration.
“Saar ille..” (Isn’t sir home?) I run back to tell my father that Velichapad was standing at the gate. My father who would have been cutting his moustache or reading the newspaper will twist his face, look at me and say, “Ask him to get lost!” I would stand quietly for a minute looking at my father in expectation that he would get up and go to the gate. My father would twist his face in anger again, give the stretched out newspaper in his hand a shake and say, “Huh!”
I do not know of whom I used to get scared at that particular moment. Was it the Velichapad who was standing outside with his scary face or my father who sat there with his eyes glued on to the paper? I would quietly tiptoe to the window of the front room and look from behind the curtains. The Velichapad would be standing there like a statue in anticipation. I would sneak back to my dad again and stand in front of him quietly till he looks up.
“Hmm?” he would ask when he sees me again.
“Velichapad standing...”I would stammer.
“Huh Huh stupid!” he would rustle the newspapers and scorn.
“Go and take a two rupee note from my pocket and give it to that fellow!”
I would jump and open his cupboard, climb on to the rack and put my hand in the pocket of his last worn white shirt, find a two rupee note and run back to the gate. The Velichapad would be waiting patiently. He will quickly pocket the currency note, turn and with lightning speed go down the lane that led to Pana.
Pana those days was the land of the Bashkirs to me. The coconut climbers and their families lived in the small thatched huts there. Green meadows, streams, ponds and coconut trees gave it a delightful charm. There were two ladies there; Naani and Chellamma. They were business rivals who sold toddy and arrack at their houses. The coconut climbers heading back from climbing trees all day would head to either of their houses to cool their heels and heads before they went to their own wives. So every married woman in Pana cursed Naani and Chellamma for the downfall of their husbands. Our house help was one of them and I would occasionally hear her speak of these two fallen angels of Pana who corrupted the men there. I never had the luck to see Naani or Chellamma. I imagined Naani to be a coy temptress as the name suggested and Chellamma a more mature and brisk business woman. There used to be a lot of drunken brawls at their place. The two women were adept at handling them all.
I don’t think Velichapad had any business to do with the coconut climbers. He owned no land and no coconut trees so where in Pana he headed is very apparent. I wonder who used to take the two rupee note from him...Naani or Chellamma?
Come twilight, and I would often hear a commotion in the lane behind our house. The Velichapad used to take bath at the public tap in the evenings. Those days, the elephants that were brought for the temple festival were also given bath at the public tap. The mahout would often ask for a bucket from our place to fill water for the elephant to fill his trunk from and then take bath. The Velichapad would bring his bucket to fill water. He would be quite inebriated by that time and would curse and scold everybody who passes by very loudly.
He would then take my father’s name from there and say,”Who do you think you are!!!”
My father who would be back from office by then would hear it and his face would twitch in anger, “Panna(dirty) Rascal!!” he would say. I would be hiding in my room feeling guilty of giving money to the drunkard.
Next week the ‘Panna Rascal’ would be back at the gate, like a gentle cat. The cycle would continue because the Velichapad forgets and my father forgives.
Krishnarpanam, the Velichapad died one evening after he had a fall chest down on the granite rock near the public tap while taking bath. Some said he had a heart attack, others said he lost balance in his drunken state and hit the rock which led to his death.
Life can be lived in many different ways. Vagabond rogue or a pious silent being; those who leave a mark are remembered.
