Prasannam - - Pramble
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Prasannam - - Pramble
I. From the File of Naga Balasubramanian (typescript : Deetsanya Ra)
The car slowed down as if it knew the place. The place where the house and the garden were deserted is now a desolate wasteland of mounds and empty land can be seen in the distance.
Loneliness The pinnacle of inadequacy. Mukundhan's firm claim that even that is not enough I have to stand here exactly at twelve o'clock.
I stopped the car engine.
All around from the roadside our old land was deserted. All the garlic plants that sprouted here and there were losing their budding. Although there were some human traces in the distance in the form of rows of huts and houses, I felt that a wasteland was spreading around the center of the place where my childhood home was. The land is a barren wasteland.
The grasses have fallen to the ground. The soil has lost its solidity and the sand has been exposed. The soil was dusty.
Dhruhi did not ask why Mukundan told me to come and stay here at this time. Gone are the days when he and I used to meet in strange places at strange times. Now he can't even move from his bed. But I didn't ask why.
If you cover the Rasta from Nageswaram to Tirunelveli for about an hour by car, the Kuppi Rasta returns to Perumputurg village, invalidating the occasional tarp coating and running back as a Kuppi Rasta. Another half an hour of falling into ditches, turning the steering wheel in a semi-circle around the stones and coming in procession is our garden. That is, the garden sold by father at a sudden price
"There is no one there," said Mukundhan, adding, "I mean alive." I looked at him with a smile from above and said “Okay”. This happened yesterday evening.
Inside the car, the handheld fan whirring towards the driving seat was blowing hot air into a separate battery and blowing it into wires. The only result of this was the heat on my face. If you stop the fan, it's just a fire, if it runs, it's a sawing fire. Stopping is prudent, but at the cost of battery from running, there's a comfort, a sense of security, in the knowledge that that little bit of engine power is serving me, hot or not.
Maybe a second in the middle. "Where's my rubber?" My dead sister's voice makes me cry and I run into the car as a lost memory, and the next second I am standing looking at the courtyard through the window of our house.
f f f
Bhairav will not be bothered by it. Because he serves us as he stands in the courtyard. Father, mother, sister, me. Even if we don't see him, our house should stand as he served. Otherwise he will lose his prana.
That was the mother's explanation for why he was standing like that. Bhairavan stands in the courtyard, almost naked, in the center of the greenery of my childhood. Apart from this, what stands out in my mind is Akka's rubbers.
My sister will pinch me. Her pinch hurts terribly. But when I pinch her she just squeals. So my rage turned on her rubber pieces, which seemed more sacred to her than her muscles. Whenever she pinched me I would steal her rubber and shave it with my father's shaving blade. Mostly I comb while looking at Bhairavan visible through the window. For me to see him, for him to share my blame, I would carve the window ledge as a sacrificial altar with the brutal satisfaction of shaving my sister's muscles to shreds with my father's shaving blade. My sister pinched me only if I do this very cruel Dharmanushanam in Bhairavan's presence. Otherwise, I will cry because I took it for no reason. I'll take it. There is a chance of getting more as a result of the comfort and sometimes a pat on the back.
Looking at Bhairavan and sawing the rubber, the older sister felt something strange, "Where is my rubber?" She shouted. Then like a miracle, like an asari born from another world, from the direction where Bhairavan was standing, a deep heavy voice "Kaluk" was heard laughing. I will look up. But there is no temptation in his body, his face, anywhere. His still statuesque look makes it seem like it's not him who's smiling.
Bhairavan always stands on the left side of the yard. He comes in the morning before we eat and he stays standing even after we eat. A strip of banana fiber wraps around his waist. His kovanam is a banana leaf stuck in it. Not fabric. Because he should not touch any cloth. This is mom's explanation,
"If you touch?" I said
,
" Dosha ! ” said mother. Dosh! Touched by this word, the inquiring mind shrinks like a sword touched by fire.
I have been seeing Bhairavan in the same condition since the day I came to know the details.
In the morning Dad would leave for the gas station - he was a cashier at a white guy's gas station on the main road. Morning means around seven o'clock. Eight o'clock means late. He left and came with pancha kacham, a kayakala belt, coat, tie, talippa and shoes and without going down to the courtyard he would stand inside the hall with the door open. Only one foot can stand on the threshold. He would stand and look at the dusty yard between the street and the door like Hitler. At that moment a horror will spread. Never in me. As the smoke from the wet wood of the plantation. Even in Kavali, this horror will stop even the asthma if the mother is suffering from asthma at that time.
Dad has left for the petrol station. But did not go down to the yard. The reason is that Bhairavan is standing on the left, on one side of the courtyard. Dad's Hitlerian vision, upright and anticipatory of an enemy army marching in the distance, gazes at the tin gate of the south-facing fence opposite.
It was only after I muttered about the perverse feeling that comes from this mugurtha that Amma explained to me. And that as a proof of the threat that I should not see Bhairav anymore and should not be seen by him.
No matter how far he stood in the yard, his look would fall on his father's side eye. As a result of lakhs of years of life-and-death struggle, the eyes of the living class are directed towards special religions. Birds have a bidirectional vision system. When walking and running, the dog adjusts one of its two eyes forward and one backward, and it can be observed that it turns slightly laterally. A war horse also has this quality. When they run, their body is not in a straight line. The giri is unique among animals with a vision system adapted to the battle for life. Its eyes are arranged so that it can see in almost all directions at once. Kiri's four-way vision is a result of the need to fight deadly venomous snakes.
Father also has Keeri's face. But the name is Nagayar. Those who don't know the details, or those who act as if they don't know, if they write a letter with the address "Nagkaiyar", they will run away and hold the postman who delivered the mail and put him in jail. “Am I a man? Has this ever happened to someone else? Send it back!” He would shout. Most of the time it is Vengu Mama who is mother's younger brother who does this poison. He would not have given his address on the cover. The postman said, "Who do I send this to, Sammy?" He said. Finding out that "Vengu has sent it" and leaving him to send the gift as a gift, the father shouted, "Dei Vengu! Who is Nagaiyan? Do you know how to write an address? Are you wearing a dress? You have escaped! Don't stick black if you touch your skin! ” style. But when writing the answer, “This place is beautiful. The use of "for glory there" will be different. Go with the naggaian shouting postman or Akasa. How I Know This falls on my ears as he reads the letter aloud to Dad.
That person is our father. I have written in a story that he is a Jwali. "The word Jwali does not describe your father as a Jwali," he wrote in a critical comment. So here I have given some details.
Even in one of his eyes Bhairav should not let silk. That is, the eyes of the giri-faced father, who can see all directions at once, should now only look straight ahead like the eyes of a harnessed Jatkavandi horse. Is it possible? Why not possible? Bhairav in one eye, as a result of which his father took off everything he was wearing, took a bath again, lay down, and in the life and death struggle to be the target of the white man's tyranny, why can't the Jatkavandi with the green eyes strapped become the eyes of a horse? Can! It's over. Here's Dad walking towards the tin door making a noiseless sound in the dust saying "Bug Bug"! The door opens. Dad disappears. The door closes again.
There was no temptation in Bhairavan's standing position. If my sister saw me looking at him, she would say, “Mom! Even now he is watching it! Gola exclaims.
"Kids should come in too. If there is no school, these are looting! ” Amma's undirected monotony.
If he comes to mention Bhairav at home, he is not him. He is an 'it', like an incessant disease that causes pain, a hideous but mysterious organ that needs to be cut off.
After I started offering namaskarams as a child with cotton wool, I should not look at Bhairavan, his shadow should not even fall on my eye, and if I do, I should take a bath immediately!
But I will see Bhairav. He is the witness of Dharmanushtanam, where I cut the rubber flesh of my sister with my father's blade, how can I not see him? It seems to me that he exists by what I see, and that without him something like the necessary pillar of my morality would disappear. Not only that. He is our servant. Without his service we would not have the ability to be served, father, mother, sister, I would not have it. It will leave us alone. This is my philosophy of stability, cooked up with mom's explanations, sister's rubber bands, and dad's shaving blade.
There is nothing funny about it. I am like the primordial king of Egypt, that king supported the sky as pillars of smoke rising from four tanks. The king endured these smokestacks without maintenance. If the king leaves the incense pillars unattended, the sky will fall down as 'damal'. For me this pillar is Bhairavan. Whenever he is not standing in the yard, I get a strange feeling in my mind. So seeing him standing and making sure became an inescapable canon in my little universe.
However, I have another question - how did he touch the tin gate of our fence, open it, come inside and stand in the yard? How did he get this social power that no one else has who can save his dignity only with a banana like him? How could he be standing here as if that is shocking to his dharma? Even if he is killed for this, humanity will approve!
No response from mom. It's not just that Dad can't ask this. Even his old shaving blade cannot be heard as a “pencil shaver”. There is only by stealing.
These unanswerable questions were bewildered by the religious programs of my growing up.
Suddenly one day we find Bhairavan in our yard. Then we will see him forever in our yard. It was only after this that I came to know that his name was Bhairavan and that he had joined Mahatma Gandhi's party. It was Venkuma who gave me these details. I must mention him as my first friend growing up.
Bhairavan, the hero of non-violence, is now a leader who inspires courage and inspiration among Harijans for Mahatma Gandhi's Temple Entry Movement.
Bhairavan broke the silence of 'that' and got up. Until then, he was an egg laid by a rare gerbil in our yard. Goth has opened its doors. Now the state of 'it' has changed to 'he' and he has risen with the name 'Bhairavan' and got wings of human wonder. I had continued to perceive his wanderings as the aerial floats of his wings that permeated the city's blasphemies.
However, when he is mentioned in our house, he is not he, it is 'it'.
"Dig a hole where it stood".
"Why are you standing like that? "
"It's gone and the peda is gone!"
But 'it' did not disappear! 'It' began to last as a dumping ground for the retail waste dumped from the house.
Fed up with the strange relationship with the white man, the father opened a clothes shop in the village with the money he had saved and gave up the turban, court, belt and everything. Dressed in a towel and shirt, Sahitam leaves for the shop as usual and stands at the door as usual, changing his keeriparva to Jatgavantik's horse-parva. Where 'it' stood is now a pit. From time to time I would put a burning match in the garbage filled inside and climb one of the trees in the yard and hide in the leaves and branches for fun. The smoke rising from the pit will stand as a pillar of incense for the king of Egypt. The father who came from inside the house was startled when he reached the door. He looked back at the smokestack. At that moment the confusion appeared and disappeared on his face, yes, at that moment father's one eye saw not just smoke but Bhairavan. That is, I have made the presence of Bhairavan a smoky form to the eye of the Father, who made his solid presence into smoke.
It was around this time that I became a writer, although my writings were later published!
My Communism led to my first publication. However, the source of this first publication is Bhairav. I bought his social movement power for a story of communist revolution. His movement was based on Gandhian Ahimsa. My revolutionary hero is a violent fighter. Still, his restless revolution, standing still in the yard, and my rebellion, stealing Dad's shaving blade and slicing through my sister's rubbery flesh, were already connected to me. Thus I have no difficulty in converting Bhairavan's non-violence into communist violence.
My first publication is the story 'Water Status' which depicts the struggle for water. The hero is stabbed at the end of the story. In other words, I had given the night to my protagonist what Bhairavan had.
Yes, my wings spread only after Bhairavan's death. I told Uncle Vengu that I should go and see him at the Tirunelveli Hospital, who had been lying on his death bed for a week with a tumor in his stomach. He stopped me and went alone. He distrusted my courage. Perhaps I joined the Communist Party to show him my courage. But even this has appeared to Venkumama as something I have done due to my cowardice.
Although I was momentarily disturbed by the smokestack I had erected for the first time, it eventually became a necessary social target for Dad to attack. Dad used to talk politics in his room next to the hall with his rare friends who were children and businessmen. Everyone will come to the yard to decide the ultimate conclusion about the news of the day as discussed. Dad's head swayed to the pulsating rhythm of his tongue. At the end, father looks at the chimney and shouts with rage.
“It came from Gandhi! It came from Gandhi! Today you enter the temple, tomorrow you stand in the middle of the house and drink your daughter, drink half of your property! Gone! Gone! "
The first time I saw Mukundan was with Dad - on one occasion when Dad looked at my chimney and shouted the above.
Although he was of my teenage age, Mukundhan said to me in a much more mature manner than me, “Is dad there? He will speak only as a subject. He doesn't even see me when dad is around.
It is an old story that all attempts to find out the basic secret of Hitler's arrival in Nagayer's backyard have failed. Now if it is this same Mukundan who has helped unexpectedly in that matter, the reason is to be found in Bhairava, in 'The State of Water', which I wrote at night from his presence, because,
At the time the story came out, "You wrote 'Water Level'?" Mukundhan came and sat down and started talking when his father was not there with the question. It was on this occasion that he became my friend.
*
What he said about modern literary writers in general, literary techniques and especially about the holes in my story gave me a kind of shock. All I know about him is that he sells chemical fertilizers and pesticides to farmers and often goes around defaulting on loans. He is a rare literary reader. Now my friend,
I was very satisfied when I drew one of my father's best friends by my side and Bhairavan stood somewhere behind this. What kind of friends are father and Mukundan! Earlier, even after Mukundan became my friend, my father, who was laughing and shaking his head and talking with him, would bring a smile on his face when he saw me. Mukundan and he would sit without speaking until I was empty. I am satisfied that Mukundan has become my friend and scored a 'goal' against my father.
Yet even in this satisfaction there is unease. I asked him this one day in the indifferent self-confidence that the intellectual friendship between me and Mukundan runs deeper than the estrangement between my father and Mukundan. "So what is Dad talking about with you?"
- The reaction to this froze me. Mukundhan, who chatted with me for hours in such a way that he could not decide whether he was enjoying my stories or making fun of me, gave no answer to this question. His eyes, which were looking at me, suddenly went up and stopped behind my shoulder as if he was looking at someone more important than me. Father followed me as he heard what I asked Mukundan? I jumped up from my chair and looked back.
"No one." 1-When he returned to Mukundan's chair, there was no one in the chair either. Mukundan came down to the yard and was going towards the tin gate. So much has happened like some kind of magic. It was my inner feeling that my father was standing behind me that made this ordinary show magical. So Mukundhan has known me for so long. He again
It took over a week to accept my status quo and get along with me like before. But there was no break in his relationship with his father.
Gradually I realized that Mukunda had not really sought me out to celebrate intellectualism with me. He was inspired by my father to see me! I was inspired by my father to know the family economic consequences of my joining the Communist Party and the decisions I could have on land matters. This is my guess. Because at the time of the release of "Neer Mandhan" my father told my mother, "I am going to write down all the loss to Angachi".
Angachi is my rubbery older sister named Angalaparameshwari - who has already been tamed by me.
I looked at my mother in the posture of laughing or not listening to my father's statement. She tactfully signaled with her fingers, ``Posukkunu Pora Bangsu'' just to catch my eye.
- After Mukundhan started getting close to me, the land plans that father used to tell mother from time to time as a result of his report became regular. In a way Mukundhan (I am satisfied that he may have spoken in this matter to the satisfaction of Father
I am very annoyed that even though he is the king of Lankapuri, he penetrated my communism and saw the real person inside.
Mukundan was the reason why I changed my mind accordingly to leave the Communist Party. That is, he argued that Communism as a general philosophy born from Marx and Engels was not fulfilled in the hands of the authorities of Soviet Russia, and that it was the most modern network available for the long-ago tsarist Russian imperialist purpose. The proof of this is the Russian chauvinists, Ukrainians, Georgians, Azerbaijanis, Caucasians, and about fifteen nationalities with cultural identity. He would argue that the Russian language and the lifeless Soviet machine culture were being forced upon them by melting them into a single union. I am the people of the Soviet Union. I will highlight the details of the preservation of the art legacy with pictures from the Soviet country press.'
- "This is a work of blunting the people's artistic sensibilities against despotism rather than making them critical. A great evasion!" He would shout intellectually. Mother would bring coffee for both of them.
The fact that father is lying in the easy chair in his room, listening to this dispute in the hall, makes my point. Because when mom brings me and Mukundan coffee, dad's darling Angachi gets a cup of coffee
She will take you to the room. She gently knocks on the door with one hand. The door opens slightly. A lot of coffee mugs disappear. Door hinges.
"You are confusing me," I would shout back in journalistic Tamil and buy coffee from my mother. I have prefaced my first collection of short stories, published soon after Stalin's death, by saying that the reason I left the party was because of the bad impression I had with Stalin. But my gripes on Communism were already dispelled by Mukundan's actions with steaming Amma's coffee in hand.
Akka Angala Parameshwari's marriage with this dispersal, ten months later she went into labor and the baby got stuck in the womb and killed her as well. All one after the other.
Suddenly the well went dry at the same time and began to seep into only the sand that had been dug. A crack in the cement floor in the middle of the house. All together they compensated my father by selling the Perumputurg village house, land, shop, everything at the highest price and buying a house in Nageswaram with the proceeds.
None of these tumults shed any light or sensation on the later prajna. But father suddenly began to appear to the eyes as one who had lost everything
left Eno said, “This is right! This is right!'' and then whenever the consciousness sees him
One has begun to appear.
- The above preface I wrote for my volume of short stories, which was already being printed in Chennai after arriving at a new home, was the first work of my second period of writing.
The people who bought the old Perum Pudoor house first demolished the house, then cut down all the standing trees, and then sold everything that was demolished and cut down. I am not interested in that either. So I did not seek to know or feel anything more than the satisfaction I felt when my father sold the old property and came to Nageswaram, which was developing into a bustling city. Besides, my whole life was concentrated in sending proofs for my volume of short stories by post from Chennai.
Mukundhan's cancer stood up behind this and penetrated the entire Allola Kallolam. When we were in the process of moving house, the news came that he had been taken to Vellore. Where is mother?'' she asked. Dad (he said 'in the leg'). Dad, who was making arrangements to open a large-scale clothing store in Nageswaram, went to Vellore to visit Mukundhan and came back with “his right leg in the femur.
As he made it clear, he calmly touched his forehead - for the first time, as far as I know. Dad collapsed further.
Even before Mukundan left the hospital, my first collection was out. I drew the middle attention of the Tamil literary world, whose contents were changing with the departure of the old communists and the entry of the new sanathanis, through my effortless introduction.
When Mukundhan came back it was found that he had already read my book. He looked at me with the same old light smile on his face as he walked towards the right side with only one cane which was held in his right hand. "Your communist-era magics come with a preface to magic communism!" The light of the courtyard through the emptiness without the right leg inside the robe. After talking while standing, father went into the room. After that, when I saw him, he was lying on his bed at home. The cancer that had gone with the leg had spread to the lung.
The cause of Mukundhan's cancer and why it is cancer is not known. He sat on a table inside his tank with fertilizers and pesticides and puffed on cigarettes.
Reading a step book could be a reason. Insecticides such as D. D. T. It may be the harsh chemical effects of drugs like The day after he came back to our house, his mouth was bleeding profusely in the morning. I excitedly told a junior journalist who had come to interview me that day, 'I find the answers to my questions not in Marx, but in the Upanishads', my key statement which was widely discussed, with the same coverage as Mukundhan's lung cancer.
- Treatment proved ineffective. At the same time, the Vedic inner circles of the older generation of writers, those who turned away from Gandhianism towards humanism, and their successors, the new generation, expanded my Vyapaka circle. see
Dad bought a new car..
There is a different time when dad goes to see Mukundan, and when he returns in the car, I go again. Whenever Dad talks to Mukundan, it seems that it is about me, and Venkumama, who appears and disappears from time to time, goes with him and sits in Kumundan's room. I know this. Once when I came to talk to him, I prefaced my question by saying, ``It's like before with Father Mukundan...''. Irrespective of Venkumama Sambandha, look somewhere else (Communism, Gandhi, Vedanta - all
He said that only those who follow it should get sanctified.
I did not answer. A moment of silence.
Then he patted my shoulder and said, 'This is what Mukundan told me and my father yesterday' and left. After that I felt shy to talk intellectually with him.
However, it seemed that Mukundan should be asked about the above statement. Yesterday, when he was sitting in front of him, this suddenly appeared.
I know he bleeds orally from time to time. I wonder if this will happen in front of me. However, it has not happened yet.
His red body flickered in front of his eyes like a shadow of an approaching climax. On the other hand, the whole vision of his life was rising in his eyes. Between him and me, the blood he mixed that day was dark in the copper casket that stood inconspicuously under the head of the bed.
Before I continued, 'Communism, Gandhianism, Vedanta - everything...''' something slipped into his voice like a stone. I panicked that he was going to bleed
I stopped halfway through his quote.
Mukundhan closed his eyes and suddenly opened them. At the same time his voice was angry, "Poison me!" His eyes pierced me and shone. My head shook that I will not be unconscious. Mukundan smiled.
''You can't. Then why do you need this hot research? Communism, Gandhianism, Vedanta..''The intensity of his laughter was something I had never seen anywhere before. An abomination in my body, not shame, let's say, self-shame!
"You can't. Your father can't. No one here can do it. But one can. Your father's father."
I heard Mukundan speak as if I were caught in a magic net.
I have no recollection of our grandfather. He disappeared before I knew the details. What is he talking about?
"Why are you talking like this?" I heard my voice unknowingly sitting in some ordinary bandi pojana posture. Mukundan began to speak with a hiss. It was the doctor's strict order that he should not speak at all - as if his not speaking was a guarantee of his life.
Even his terrible illness remained silent until Mukundan finished speaking. In the beginning, Bali, who was infatuated with his data, kept repelling me. There was a hint of anger in his voice, like a deserted bottle opener in the hot summer sun
pride
"I have never seen the hero of your 'Water'. But your father told me everything. I know all the things you don't know about Bhairavan, all the things you have sought to know. Bhairavan was born to your father's father and to a raccoon he kept in secret. Amanda Ballou! Bhairavan un Chithapanda Tappandi, not to him
! Your grandfather named you Sevukhan, Sanyan, Bhairavamurthy. In addition, he has written half of all land and house to him. But, can that writing be fulfilled that day? However, Bhairavamurthy did not give up. Allada Balu, he was standing there in your backyard to serve you, your father, your mother, your Angachi sister. If so, why? The reason he stayed there was land ownership. Property rights. He stands in the middle of the sun every day in his own land! Even so, he did not go to court. can't go No one took his case, not even a word. Before his speech was born
. He will become deaf in one ear. So he asked for his share only by placing his existence before you. 'Here I am'
Just by his presence. Your grandfather created this condition. He can do it, you can't.''
The voice belongs to Mukunda. The shadow of the Bhairava Murti narrowing towards the apex of the Uchikodai veil appeared in his figure.
I told Savathanamak, “It is the doctor's strict orders that you should not speak. I still don't understand what you're saying.''
He threw his usual sneer at me. "Don't understand? Why did your father hastily sell all your house and land in Perum Budur last year and come here to Nagesh Varam? Don't you understand that too? Understandable. go Go to Perumdur. Go there tomorrow exactly at twelve noon. Understood.''
By this time my rationality was awakened. Its smile came from above. I got up saying "OK!" By then Mukundhan had closed his eyes in extreme exhaustion.
It was not past twelve o'clock. I switched off the fan and opened the car door and got out. My eyes searched for the scar of the felled tree. At the place where the house used to be, the house was dug up
Maeve was filling up. The primitive drunken blind belief that Nadu Nisi and Nadu Madhyana are of spirits may have evolved into the practice of Mukunda standing on the brink of death. If this is ridiculed by my decisive reasoning, it will be the only answer to the mockery that Mukunda has thrown at me for a long time. I crossed the border where even the sign of the fence surrounding our house was gone.
The sound of laughter was heard and contained from a deep, heavy male voice. With a shudder of panic that didn't know me, I looked at where Bhairav stood. I expected a pit, no, there was no sign of a pit. Instead what was seen was a dried up circle of some heavy fluid that rose up from a hole and spread like sand. At its center a large ball of sand rises and the broken trace slowly dissolves. The sound of the bubble popping and breaking was the joke I heard.
With a jolt of electricity, a piece of information that had not been stored in my mind until that day hit me. The reason why father sold the house was not because of his sister's death. An explosion like a streak of lightning ran through the middle of the house from the front door to the back door! I didn't think about it more than thinking about the small responsibility of calling a mason to fix the crack that split the house in half. In fact, the land is divided into properties through the place. — That is, land
Of the eternal earth that was hidden somewhere under the din of Aipa Ravani
The radius is large enough to absorb this perverse curve. It was something paranormal that split the house in half that made Dad laugh
That woman must be Shakti.
This would have hit him harder than the death of Dad might also have feared that I would approve of Bhairavan's role because of my communism.
Hating whom and without reason, I stooped down at the same speed and picked up a stone and threw it towards the center of the circle where the bubble rose. The stone clung to where it fell with an obnoxious 'suck' sound. It is not buried and no liquid or sand is scattered from the place where it fell. But while I was watching, the stone came to life and became a city. No, it's sliding. Area of greatest burden
It is the first burying slope. As I was looking at that, children and men from everywhere suddenly appeared to spring up from the ground around me and the region.
It was clear that they were below the poverty line. Even so, on the faces of the boys and girls, the eyes stared at me with the holy renewal of childhood from the hair bushes that were lying flat and without oil. Only one or two adults. An old man among them, with a slight hunchback, came towards me with a wave of his hand as if he were coming with the intention of following.
had The arm may be his crutch. But now he was holding it in the habit of striking it for the sake of beating it. At its tip were knotted and hanging like pieces of string. Standing in front of me, he looked straight into my eyes. Long gray braided hair scattered around a bald head. The black skin on the face was sun-tanned and plowed with innumerable scratches hanging from the facial bones. Surprisingly, the nose stuck out from the face like a statue of Rathamandapa, which I saw somewhere in a temple. Beneath bushy brows the eyes glittered like water searching a dark depth. Even so the old man lost his sight--he stared at my face and bent over my head like a searcher in the dark. Suddenly he put two eights behind.
"Bathiya Grandfather? Mukundhan Uncle Ille! It's Aro!" said a boy's voice right behind my spine.
The old man pointed at my leg, which was being buried very slowly without missing a mark, and asked, "Is it buried?"
“Why do you ask?” I was surprised by the tremor in my voice as I answered this question with a solemn, authoritative tone. I adjusted my voice. Something for them
I did not seem to escape from any mishap by saying that I also knew the known Mukundan.
Behind me, the same boy's voice answered me again, "Right, at twelve o'clock the earth will swell." Uncle Mukundan showed this and said that this is the land of Bhairava Murthy. Do not stone. I want to bow down.' I opened the car door without looking at the person who answered and got in and started it. Backtracking and turning the back of the car to our old land, I moved forward again and turned back towards the main road.
As soon as the car was accelerated to some extent, small stones fell on the car as if it was raining.
Only one stone flew through the car window and hit the right side of my head. I was focused on running away from the area regardless of the pain. Because of this I did not notice the blood leaking from my head at first.
*****
II. Written by Shiromani Venkatesan (Type : Ra Ra Ku)
I happened to come across a file containing the above while looking for a receipt at my sister's house. It was also one of the few days when we thought that Mukundhan could die at any second. My sister's son, i.e. my son-in-law, Balasubramaniam aka 'Balu' has deliberately omitted some things from the above. Balu is a writer but also a man. Especially few people. That is why his father's father, Rudramurthy Shastri, is well known in the field of Ayurveda. Author of the Sanskrit book 'Neelakanda Navaneetham'. There is a reason why Balu obscured these details.
Rudramurthy is the seventh generation child of Swarna Sastris. The title of Shastri can continue only for six generations. The concept of home education is also dissolved. The seventh generation should again study Veddayanadis and other Shastras under a Guru and earn Shastripattam. In this way, Rudramurthy became a Sastri after sitting with the Krishna Sastris of Thiruvidaimarudur. His eldest son, Nagaiyar, is of the second generation, so there is no objection to being called Shastri. But he was called 'Hitler'. It is worth noting that Nagaiyar was given this title by his father, Rudramurthy Sastri, and that this was well known to Balu, though he did not know it himself, through people like me. Casting this title as a curse on his eldest son, the Shastris left in 1939. Then he did not return home. A rumor arose that he had become a monk. In 1939, Balu was seven years old. It was not an age to forget this event that exploded in the family world and shook the town.
The day after Rudramurthy Sastris leave, Mahaganam Brahmashri Bhairavamurthy Sastris, who emerges from Balu's stiff fingers as 'Bhairavan' and 'Avan', begins his silent war in the backyard of the Sastris Nagaiyar. Why he stood there like that is something that Balu has known from the beginning and is deeply rooted. It can be reasoned that Balu, the narrator, has hidden this for the sake of his narration and finally revealed it through Mukundan. But why is Balu wearing a banana wrap for Bhairavashastri, who has always been a clean panchakachathari? No matter what, I am saying that Bhairava is a Pariyar and pretends that he alone has a revolutionary interest in the Pariyars. As a result of this, Sriman Balu has even hidden the Shastri personality of Bhairava. Underlying this is the fact that Rudramurthy Shastri, the same father who made his father Nagaiyar 'Hitler', has made a Parayan a Shastri. Balu had a good celebration with many priests, monks and children who were very angry. This is why I never respected his revolutionary communist tendencies.
Balu has run away in search of new revolutionary methods because of the loss of the Shastripatam that could have come naturally to him through his father. Along with this, Sriman Balu has made the name of his grandfather, Rudramurthy Shastri, disappear from history by following the same method of obfuscation as these revolutionaries, stop!
In the presence of sixty brahmins of the same deep temperament as the Rudramurti Sastris, a twenty-one-year-old monk named Bhairavamurti demonstrated his Shastra knowledge in Sanskrit and assumed the title of father. Nagayar, who should have inherited this through generations, shook his head incessantly saying that Bhairav, who was graduated as a Shastri by his father, was 'untouchable', pointed his finger in front of his father and proved the hardness of his tongue and became Hitler.
Even if Balu justifies his concealment of these things, an event that Balu writes as having taken place in the native land of the Rudramurti Sastris, a place he refers to as 'Bhairavamurti Temple' at the end of his narrative, is a big lie. No one threw stones at Balu's car or him. If Paul says that I cannot produce reliable evidence for this claim of mine, I will remind him that he did not look back at the boy who called the place a temple. If he had seen, he would have seen me standing next to the boy.
After the matter has been so far exposed, the two letters I give below need not be kept secret. Mukundhan had proposed that he should Tamilise Neelakanda Navaneetha, and that the matter revealed through these letters should be given in its preface. But due to the efforts made by Sriman Balu, these letters have to be revealed now. When I thought I could say a word to Mukundan for anything, Balu called me - no word can reach Mukundan anymore.
III. Mukundan's letter
Virudhunagar flag, 25-11-59
Mahaganam Vengu hastily wrote to Mukundhan while standing. The reply should be written and sent to Nageswara in detail. Forgotten! Many salutations.
Hitler's metaphor is very 'deep'! By chance I saw Balu who had left after saying 'I know everything'. I know you have told me that you have gone and seen Bhairava Sastris lying with a stick in their stomach. But when the Thoothukudi passenger I boarded for Virudhunagar started moving, Balu stepped outside my window as he walked on the platform. --" Uncle Vengu went and spoke.' At the bottom line 'spoken', your 'deep' train started rattling through me.
I spoke like that when Hitler told me everything he had to say. But Hitler never spoke to the Shastris. You are talking. And that too in his last days. This should be what you are referring to. I will not be able to come back to Tirunelveli within these seven days and after talking to a fertilizer agent here I will wander around town for account cases. So write the answer. Apologies to Tamion, with details
Their soulmate
A.K. Mukundan
IV. Venkatesan letter
Tirunelveli, 30.11.1959 Many blessings to Chiranjeevi Mukundhan. Everyone at home is sick, but you don't ask and write about it. If you have been married in the past, you would have heard. let go
Because this matter involving the Bhairava Sastris is better to sit on the kadudasi like this
King of Lankapuri
I am writing a reply, but your mouth is going to hang as Balu gets to know this. He doesn't have the attitude to understand things.
I have told you about Rudra Murthy Shastri's Pachilais and Spuds. His expertise is in herbal medicine, and he has spent money to search for the herbs mentioned in the promises, which were not in medical circulation until then. He has valiantly traveled through the dangerous deserts and mountains of this year. As a result, Ayurvedic science has been expanded and reborn through him, but there is a rumor that he went mad in search of an alchemical herb that would turn iron into gold. Did Hitler tell you this? Because Hitler is the father of this hoax about fatherhood.
If that was the father that Hitler saw, Bhairava Shastri was a completely different kind of father. Balu could not have told you that Bhairava Shastri had sent me to come and see him. Because I didn't mention it to Paul,
It was Bhairava who spoke to me despite the medical restriction of *not speaking'. I didn't speak, I went and sat in one of the chairs by his bed. I saw the Gila Gandhis taking turns helping him. At Bhairava Sastri's feet sat Mother Beth, the Putrasoka on her face was shaped like Visva's agony in the interior of an enormous Ugra. I waved “Namaskaram” as Bhairav introduced himself as “Mother.” He collected his hands that were resting on his child's feet and raised them in response.
"It is mother's order to tell you this," began Bhairava with mild sarcasm. First we want to know if what he heard is true!''
"It's true," said I, and now I think I might have said that the abomination of shame has broken out in Italy, and that the garbage is thrown into the pit and burned—burning milk—.
Well, then it is necessary to tell you this'' Bhairava Sastri said the following details in a slow voice. I have elaborated here and there before the details. Even this expansion is not enough.
Herb of Rudramurthy Sastris (Courageous disciples are the ones who accompany the hunt. Sometimes someone hires a couple of bundles for hire and leaves alone. At one time when he was leaving, one of the two hirelings was bitten by a snake near Tirunelvelik forest.
Can you get someone to lift the bundle here to a person who was standing in front of him looking on after making a hand tool for him?' Shastri has inquired. * "I will attack you, Sami. I will get a forest like that, Sami," he said, adding 'Sami' word for word as per the custom of the day, what is your caste?' Said the Shastris, "I am a casteless Manusanusami Parayanu Sami!"
)
A place that can be said. And this is me
Rudra Murthy Sastris were surprised at this: He stood boldly in front of the Brahmin and was about to lift his bundle by touching it. But it is Parayanam, any possible touch with him will extinguish the flame of mantras and this is the time of Kali. He had seen the lamps burning upside down in the Pattinam of Chennai, the Sastris who showed the bundle and said, "OK lift it!" and walked ahead with a stick, even though he was a little old, with the enthusiasm of a two-year-old boy, he ran ahead kissing the Sastris while lifting the bundle, and standing and looking at him with the eyes of the shopkeeper, he reprimanded him. He continued to recover and run again for a while. But the regional wisdom he displayed in showing the path and identifying the animals that roamed there with a few sticks made him indispensable to the Sastris. When he struggled to gather herbs on the steep slopes of unclimbable rocks, he stood on his shoulder and helped him reach for the herbs. At night, he lit a fire all around and kept watch over the Shastris. If the water in the jar runs out, he will guide you to where the water is. Until then, Shastris had never had such expertise. Vam Nala in Kaana Kadhi
Sastris learned from him how much water, food and protection they could spend without worry in one Shuklapaksha.
In the hungry darkness of Kanaka, which pervades the plant universe, the crooked self-centered tastes of the self are folded. Born from the dens of deadly beasts, the realm of death is spread out like a buttercup. For that Anjuon was one of the many preys of Kanakam. Death in a fearless soul is taught meditation. Souls with the highest awareness of life make such kanakas sannytya kendras. There is neither Paraya nor Brahmin in Andakendra. However, the mantras that softened the touch of the bundle continued to roll on the Shastri's tongue.
Identifying certain herbs and knowing their location requires intuition, or divination. Of course, it is not fair to know anything about the bundle. However, the Sastris observed that the ability to distinguish even rare herbs was inherent in the bundle. Even though the names of the herbs that are rarely mentioned in the Vagads like tiger's foot and poison bay leaves are not known, various small plants were hidden even in the intertwining bushes. This?” When asked like a child, he was confused and said, "How is this?" The mantras he mentally rolled to remove the bundle's touch blushed towards the source. They continued walking.
Kanaka Vrutshas were becoming rare species trees and were decreasing in number. Shastris have lost their sense of direction. But nothing was wrong with lifting the bundle. When he turned to him and suddenly compared the direction of the village they had started from, the distance, and the calculation of how many Nazhikai it was at that time, he somehow sensed his distress and felt a comforting posture.
The age of the trees in the place where they were coming then may have exceeded five hundred years. The trees before them are stiff with age. Everywhere the sudden appearance of wooden rocks gave the impression that the sanctuary had stepped through the ruins of an infinite and eternal temple. Each tree swelled to the circumference of the great towers, which, when standing close by, rose like a steep mountain slope, and somewhere in the distance stood their branches with strewn leaves. A man's two hands could not even bend and grasp the mass of the vines that were entwined among the trees and hung from the high branches. There was a deep semi-darkness where even the light of the afternoon sun did not penetrate. A feeling that somewhere, nearby, a Mahashakti that transcends the boundaries of the world seems to be standing unceasingly. The Sastris suddenly looked back at the bundle standing behind them. Immediately the strange feeling disappeared. His gaze, which had been staring at him till then, left him blank.
The returnee suddenly threw away the huge bundle and shouted, “Throw away the stick! Kumbudu! ” he shouted in a commanding voice, folded his hands and placed them on his head. Rudramurthy let the shastri slip the rod as if he was carrying out the order in defiance of himself. His bronze body fell on a wooden rock and his eyes curled his form among the vines to find his motionless twelve-foot-long Krishna Naga standing half down on the ground. Behind its motionless neck, which rose forty feet above the ground, its long body, caught in the vines, flowed down in a noiseless stream of mercury. At that his hands shot up and flailed out as if trying to accomplish some trick that would replace what he saw with the wretched pulse of self-defense. Immediately the dragon opened its mouth slightly and roared towards his face. Beyond the distance of about fifteen feet between the dragon and him, in a ray line in between, a thin shower fell on his face, shining like diamond dust. Immediately the Shastri's eyes burned and darkened. He just fell.
I have to interrupt at this point. I don't know what species this dragon belongs to. It appears from the information given by the Bhairava Sastris that Rajanagam is also known as Krishna Nagam. But this great dragon, which can inject enough venom to kill even an elephant within minutes, cannot attack by hissing. The spotted snake is the only one that has little power to aim its poison at the eyes of an animal standing at a distance like this. It is similar to the length of a normal dragon. One more thing. The spotted dragon is unique to the dark continent of Africa. It has never been seen in India. If the information given by Bhairava Shastri is correct. Something else big with the quality of a spotted dragon must have attacked the Rudramurthy Sastris. It is likely to be a hitherto unknown species in Indian colonies.
Night had fallen like a magic net when Prajna returned to Rudra Murthy Shastri. Pelarnami day. The moon was caught in the branches of the tree and was breaking and scolding, shedding light into the darkness and increasing the darkness. And as Prajna expanded he realized that he was lying on his back and that he was holding his forehead with one hand and holding his face slightly upright. In front of his face was another hand, a bare hand carrying the moonlight, but with some liquid in the palm of his hand that alternated between his eyes. As soon as he opened his eyes, he fainted. Now both eyes burned, cooled, burned, cooled, face in the eyeballs and felt a shadow that extended into the body and descended into the ocular air. The voice of lifting the bundle, see this with your own eyes, Sami! "I have a story in my hand," he said softly.
Rudramurthy Sastris only knew the hand of lifting the bundle. With great difficulty, the only word that came out as he moved his tongue, which was stuck to the upper tongue, was ``Remedial!'' Within a century that has passed like a long time, the fluid philosophy of the body has been paralleled to the extent that even the thirst of the Shastris has been contained. Sitting up, Kudumich brushed his messy hair. He felt his brain churning with unprecedented fury. New powers were permeating his entire body, and he raised the bundle, which he held in one hand, and beckoned him to show it to him.
Sitting before him he held out his hand before him in the moonlight. The Shastris saw only emptiness in the cup of his hand. Not! It didn't matter if he saw the emptiness, a few drops were slowly appearing reflecting the moonlight in the space above his hand. Rudramurthy Shastri felt shivers. They were the drops of poison that had been sucked out of his eyes a moment ago. But that something which is now spitting out the poison it has absorbed is not visible to the eyes of the Shastris.
Suddenly, on one occasion when he was talking to Lord Ramanamaharishi at Tiruvannamalai, an unknown Jatadari who was present, mentioned about the Sushma herb 'Neelkandam', now came to mind. The details about it have been preserved only as hearsay in Siddha Maratha, not even being marked on the vehicles. It is visible only to holy eyes, and that too if it shows itself. It also appears rare in some paranormal places. The Kendra of Nilakanda is the dimension between nature and the philosophies that exist beyond nature as a source of nature. So it is not the land, not the water, not the air that feeds it - not even the subtle nutrients like light and air. It is only the prasanna of a self-realized person that feeds this psyche. As long as there is one such person in the world, it will flourish everywhere. Today will disappear from the world. Its unique powers are shrouded in mystery. It even touches the karmic realm beyond mere physical ailments. On the one hand it can be curative and on the other hand it can turn into a terrible disease. At the same time it fulfills the internal healing process. It's not what it seems. It is eternal like the minerals of the universe. Only those who know and transcend themselves have the power to take Idasana and use it as an olashadam.
It was on that day that Rudramurthy Sastri learned the true weight of his spiritual merit. Lifting the bundle, he looked up into the large eyes set on the black veiled face. The kindness and fearless humility that emerged there made Andaparayan a shadowy emperor. Even after that, Rudramurthy Sastri was disturbed by his insistence that he should carry the bundle himself.
Both returned to the starting place. The Sastris came to know that the bundle was lifted by a man who lived in Paracheri as a doctor who sometimes saved even caste Hindus. It was in the same slum that the Shastris saw Bethammala, who was helping her father by grinding papchila, performing circumambulation, etc.
Rumors that Rudramurthy Shastri married Pethamma on some whim are baseless. It was Bethammal's involvement in matters beyond her elders that made her an indispensable companion to the Shastris. It also makes sense that some precedents claim that the Shastris have done this as a precursor to some kind of mixed marriage. These claims even come from some literary lovers who know little about his grandfather to exaggerate Naga Bala Subramanian. But I also know that for Balu women are seen only within caste boundaries like gotra etc. Balu will not cross those boundaries. No meaningful need would sway him in this regard and his grandfather would vote!
"Right after the wedding of Ruthramurthi Sastri and Bethammal, he took the bundle and went to Kanagat and disappeared. No matter how hard I searched, I couldn't find him again.
Bhairava Sastris, who concluded all this with the intervening explanations of Bethammal, said again, “You say that a pit has been dug where I was standing in Nagayar's backyard. Who dug it?' said. This is something I don't know. Someone will be an employee. However, since I don't know who it is, I have to inquire about it."
"That neelkanda herb, which was known only to grandfather's eyes, was given to father as Sridhana. Bhairava Sastri continued. It has been known to my eyes in small reading at certain times. Dad also brought me Nagair when he was a child.. but I didn't understand anything about Nagair and that's why Dad gave me Vedic training along with medical training. Even scientifically it has peace.
Varna' did not refer to the color of the skin in the early period when the Vedas were sung. Varna has a native meaning of 'choice'. Even in ancient times it can be distorted as 'selection' based on skin color. Anal varnam' refers to the light flowing through the earth and its color. The rishis of the day were chosen by the color of this luminary. In a way, this is how my father selected me through the Neelakanda exam. As I grew older, my eyes rarely saw the blue sky. Yet it is always in my touch. My father and mother have even felt a heavy fluid-like force around the place where it is. But if anyone else happens to walk through the corner of the garden where we have secured it, the place will be empty for them. I say these things for a reason.
On father's orders I asked for a share in his land. I must get it or I must be killed by the hands of the Nagaiyar, was the decision of the father. But then after joining Mahatma Gandhi's movement, I could not continue to carry out my father's order. It does not seem to me that there is any kind of action involved in standing in the sun reading the scriptures in one's mind. By not noticing me, Nagaiyaro defeated my war of silence arbitrarily. I don't know where he went if we can talk to dad and reform the situation. Friends took me to Mahatma Gandhi during his stay in Thiruvananthapuram. Through them, Mahatma also knew my story. 'Come Sastris' he greeted them in Tamil and cooed to his Tamil like a child. I told him about my father's order. "If you are not given what you deserve, the highest resistance is to give you what you deserve" said Gandhiji in English. I don't know the language. Friends translated. I came back and with mother's permission I moved Neelakanda with both hands. A rolling electromagnet spread over my hands and took over my entire body. They say that this power also spread through the body of my mother who was afraid for me at that time and kept her hand on my back. Our place was the Kanaka fringe, about two stones to the north of Perum Budur. From there I left with Neelakanda running and walking with my mother behind me. A couple of times on the way my body trembled. On those occasions all worldviews disappeared. A wonderful sphere of blue lightning was pulling me forward through the void where only forces collided and moved. At the same time, I heard my mother's voice calling me and screaming. They later say that he suddenly disappeared in his eyes. When I lost heart to their screams, I could not lose track and was running to follow my mother. The second and third times this happened, mother did not scream. We felt that we had reached Perumbudur. Then it's lunchtime. Within about an hour, Vitomenin reached the door of Nagaiyar, and through the ages it seemed as if mother and I had been running hand in hand, following an unattainable force of ambition. These aspects are not described in 'Neelakanda Navaneetha' written by father. If you consider these necessary, you must write them as your admission. Mom opened the door and I went inside. My mother, who was not afraid that the Nagai might cut me down in her garden, now did not want to leave me alone and came inside with me. I bent down where I stood in Nagayar's backyard and placed the Neelakanda and then removed my hands and piled them. Mother touched me and said 'up'. I got up. My outstretched hand didn't land on the ground. Involuntarily rose up and disappeared as a point of light for an incalculable distance of how many miles. The mind said 'Yes' and was relieved that its burdens had come down. Through our tear screen we walked back and saw a face in the window of the house, split with tears and looking like two. Could that face—or faces—have seen what we saw? Did they dig the hole in search of what they found?" These were the final words spoken by the Bhairava Sastris before me. Bethammal's face, which until then seemed to be drowning in unknowing laughter, softened and smiled at these final words of her son. A little girl's venom appeared on their faces and then disappeared.
Bhairava Sastri passed away the next day. All I was left with was an inquiry into the nature of the Neelakanda. These can be fulfilled in response to a couple of questions asked by him. But none of Nagayar's family answered any question about the cut cavity. Now none of the family members of Eno Nagaiyar answered any question about the cut cavity. Now a Nagayar is suddenly poised to sell his estate. When I came to buy it, she had asthma. "Don't want! Don't you want this, Vengoo!” She says.
I will do one. You are the one who recites Kanjira in the tongue of Nagaiyar. Balu thinks otherwise that you are the candy he keeps in his pocket. Why don't you find the answers to Bhairav's questions yourself? I should have asked you about this earlier, but the days went by hoping I could figure it out myself.
Blessings again Siromani Venkatesan
V. Mukundan letter
Nageswaram
(no date)
Many salutations. I was able to read your essay letter only yesterday evening. You kept me awake all night without sleeping. I read your letter late one night again, convinced that everything had begun to end like this. I have the answer you are looking for.
This is something that has been dismissed from memory as some confused event. So I don't remember the day and date. I opened the tin gate and saw them standing in their courtyard, looking at each other puzzled like a never-before-seen sight. Before I entered, Nagaiyar showed me a place on the ground between himself and Thanayan and said, "Are you digging a hole in this place without asking why?" said.
I understand the matter. You will understand. Soomics or sorcery is done at that place. If you dig the place with a spade without speaking or asking why, peace will come. These are the people who talk about things like this because of their arrogance by Nagaiyar and because of their communist ideology. But now...? I didn't ask why. I took off my shirt and hung it on the fence, folded up my vest and took the nearby shovel. Danda and Dhanayan withdrew. The next memory associated with Buddhi Swadeen is me lifting the spade. The next stage is when I put the flat spade into the ground and the plate is buried in the soil and the soil is embedded in its tongue. It was as if nothing had happened between that and this state. Hesitantly, I began to dig in as if something else had taken over my body.
Later, while drinking coffee, he said to Balu, who was alone with me, "You are the one who studied Marxism-Leninism. What's the point of playing with mud? I said. At that moment, I had to change the conversation before the smile that spread on Balu's face turned into a strange smile, and he returned to the subject, "What is this?" I have joint pain. There is nothing else" and he indulged in negligent sinful activities.
Bhairava Sastri asked 'Who? Why?' The answers I have given here are simple. I think none of these. Yet that night a distant roar was heard in the vastness of the dusty earth. I'm falling head over heels into a bottomless well inside me and my back bridge is broken. Through it, any unspeakable kind of filth emerges and recedes, running from today to yesterday in the course of time. I woke up screaming as my body started shaking. When he awoke, a restraining power disappeared, as if he had been held captive so that no scream could come out of his mouth. My sleep was never normal after this. It all makes sense now. After your letter, the waking hours are running as usual. yes -
I forgot to say hello to Mami. You have scratched a line about my Thirukalyanam. Suddenly, now something seems to be wanting. Sometimes it says nothing. I can't even see the meaning of a little smoke and drugs, so I'm always wondering what's left. Not only good and bad, but also the duality of right and wrong lose their contours and become a single image.
Their soulmate,
A feeling of something suddenly falling on the bridge before signing. I looked up and this is my compost pile. There is no one else except me.
VI. Synopsis
"Mukundan's letter ends without a signature," I said.
Cyril Robertson, a blue-collar lover, smiled into his graying beard. Outside, through the door of the ashram hut, is the southern view of the Lord. I did not see the mountain. I saw Betham sitting surrounded by dogs under a gigantic rock that seemed to have frozen in its original form before the earth split and rose up. Somewhere she was squatting like any other girl looking at a bar. Yet her face, with its short hair, transcending humanity, transcending the limitations of male and female, and transcending age, was fierce in an eternal wisdom, and the whole of nature that was visible outside attracted my eyes as if it gave the appearance of being reborn through that face. I could feel her shyness in her soft movements, moving and sitting back, as though she could not see me even at such a distance.
``Why?'' said Nilakandapremi. The wrinkled skin of the eighty-year-old face, the thick gray drooping eyebrows, the beard, and the braids had lost their Englishness and had acquired the indifference of India. A clean kurta and kameez in North Indian style are tight and cling to a dry firm body.
However, his Tamil accent evoked the sarcasm of a schoolboy in me, so I decided 'we'd better speak in English' and accepted him to some extent. But why?'' was born in Tamil.
"Either Mukundan was not there at that moment or what?"
.
Before I could continue he raised his hand and stopped my ideological traffic. "At that moment Mukundhan was not there! That's all'' he said.
Dhar Premi signal the beloved who brought a glass of drinking water just for me. Holding one of the sitter's hands, he said, 'Siromani Venkatesan, who has accepted my responsibility and corresponded with you.' In the letters that came to me from Thiruvanamalaiyili to Chennai, there was only 'For Sri Neelakanda Premi, V''. We exchanged greetings. Shiromani radiated the intensity of someone watching everything. Shaved head. A smooth-jawed schoolboy with an unblemished, yet venomous, personality. A rugged and majestic body that stands up to age. Saffron blanket. The pale white of self-wash in the banyan inside and the vest below.
'I was invited to Tiruvannamalai after I had read all the letters of Mukundan Chiromani, the narrative of Naga Balasubramanian which was sent to me, was written instead by Chiromani Venkatesan.
Na. Pa. Premi did not ask me for advice on publishing the above material after finding out that I was a 'criticism' referred to in the narrative of. I gave up. The literary world will know the cutting of the Tamil literary tent behind this. Premi and Chiromani cannot know. They have contacted me through the address found in my letters in Mukundan's files.
Raja of Lankapuri - Publish? Na. Pa. Is the purpose of the narrative literary or sociopolitical gossip? I was sent xerox copies of things with questions like Also, "If it is beneficial, we can publish it" with the permission given by NAB to his publication. From my reply: "Na Kapalasubramanian is an intelligent writer. But his subtlety was dulled by the literary attitude mixed with Brahminical politics. In the Prasthabha narrative this intuition speaks in a confessional voice, and Na. Pa. It can also be felt that his political consciousness is obscuring it. There is even an intention to unload some intimate burden. It is because of the pressure of this burden that he gives details such as self-shame that exposes himself. Na. Pa. A wall also rises between V and Father Nagaiyar. Why this wall? Even in Siromani's account there is no satisfactory answer to this. Surely the young mind of 'Balu' (Na. Pa.) could not understand the injustice done by the Nagayars in the matter of property to the Bhairavashastris. So Na. Pa. And Siromani hides the real reason for this wall. In 1939, Hitler's racism and tyranny were less obvious. However, the Rudramurthy Sastris know this. How? The interesting thing about these is that Pa. According to the timeline given by both Chiromani, in 1939, Balu was seven years old. Since then Bhairavashastri has been standing in Nagaiyar's courtyard fighting a silent war. It was only then that he joined Gandhiji's temple visit movement and got the remedy from his father in Thiruvananthapuram and fulfilled it. Na. Pa. The writer was in his twenty-third year. That is, by 1955, just a year or two before this, by 1954, Bairavashastri was caned. And that's it.'' Couldn't believe it
The reply came in Cyril Robertson's British handwriting, in English: “Thank you. You've got a razor sharp brain. Others will curse. You are intruding. Come in person. There is no accommodation in the ashram. Take a room. The cost is ours. In case of delay in arrival reply with - Friendly, Nilakandapremi- Formerly, disciple of Rudramurthy Sastris, Cyril.'
This explanatory signature solves the problem of how Ruther got access to Hitler's inside information in 1939. I caught the bus that day.
Another thing that caught my eye in the frenzy of the bus ride: the white owner of the gas station who was a naggar accountant could be the same Cyril Robertson. Still unsubstantiated speculation.
The first thing I saw after searching the ashram grounds was this amazing old lady who I didn't know was Bethammai. Midday meal is fed to her by an old lapped Vyothibar. She sometimes scoops up half of what is thrown in her hand and feeds it to the dogs and to her elderly guardians. There is a wonderful silence in the crowd of dogs that snarl and snarl at each other at mealtimes, and if any one of them growls slightly, Betham sternly hushes it down. Even among those fifteen to twenty dogs, all of them did not get food. After eating, the man brought water to the bed and wiped his mouth and walked towards the hut which was far away. Near the hut is a board saying 'Bethammai Ashram'.
"Blue-eyed Premi..." I started to a staff member who came from inside, "Blue-eyed Chamings? Stay. Go." He did as he was told.
Phew
"You have raised some of the same doubts that I raised," said Premi, holding Chiromani's hand, but Vengu could not write the whole thing. He says it's a crime. If I had not said - then this ashram was in Tirunelveli itself - if I had not said, he would not have written so much.
"Did Mukundhan have anything to do with your Tirunelveli Ashram?" I asked hesitantly.
Ashram connection nonsense! Mukundan was touched. But at this place the lover bowed his head and lingered, "If you are touched by it, you must set the anchor in it." Today you will be scattered.”
"J, one of Krishnamurti's last words," I said, lifting my speaking head above the wave of silence that had developed from somewhere.
"So let's forget about Mukundan and come to the point. Venku would like to answer the questions you have raised in your letter.
Siro Mani's voice was teary. When Bhairava mentioned the problem, Bhairava fulfilled the solution given by the Gandhis in 1939. The event that prompted this fulfillment is omitted in Balu's account and mine, both of us doing it to protect different people. Rudra did Biduarjitham and wrote it down on a copper plate. After this, the matter did not move for about fifteen years. This was due to the power of pro-Nagaiyar personalities. In 1939, Rudrar went to Nagaiyar along with Bhairav and his witnesses with a two-to-one decision. There he stopped Bhairav on the left side of the yard and declared that 'this is his land', and immediately the Nagayar ran up to Bhairav's head, back and legs with blasphemies that I cannot say. Seven year old Balu was one of the people who stood watching this. Sixteen-year-old Na is another. It was at that moment that Balu's wall rose against his father. Biravar is not running. He did not fall and stood motionless. This commitment has taken hold of Balu. I wanted to write about the beating of Bhairav, I have omitted it and followed Balu's description in another matter. That is, during the above incident in 1939, Balu has also written that Bhairava stood in Nagair's courtyard fighting a silent war after Rudra passed away after giving the title of Hitler to Nagayar. I have also written that Bhairava told me that he stood like that. He did not tell me that Bhairav was not actually standing like that. Immediately after Rudra's death, Bhairava, who remembered Gandhi's words of salvation, took his precious treasure and placed it in Nagaiyar's yard where he stood and was struck. The only Sakshi who saw this was Balu's mother, my sister. In fact Bhairava did not go to Nagaiyar's yard after this. He was engaged in his medical profession and Gandhian movement. He also took charge of the Shastra training of his father's disciples, such as Sri Nilakandapremi. Yet every day, as soon as the sunlight hits Nagaiyar's yard, a miracle happens. After standing for a few minutes at the place where he had been beaten, Suryakirana took human form and stood as Bhairavamurthy Sastri, who fell on the spot where Nilakandam was permanently consecrated by him.
For the first time, this was noticed by Na Guyer and he beat on the open space, and the amazing thing he did was told by his wife, my sister, for the children. But Angachi, the subordinate of father Nagayar, is spitting on Nilakanda, the divine form, listening to his father's words. My sister Dari says that Bo Tu Thane Balu will cut her rubbers when she gets angry. Even now, the technical details given by Balu about hearing the sound of 'Kaluk' from the direction of Neelakandha in that Chandhar passage makes me cringe even now. Is this Balagan Balu's imagination? Or did Pratimaikru, who appeared there, have the inherent power to smile back in the human dimension? No, as Sri Nilakandapremi explains, did it elicit laughter in response to Balu's state of mind? -- Did not understand Look at the meaning of the vision he got
. Had he really realized that day, there would have been no such confusion in his narrative."
Chiromani stopped as if what he had come to say was over.
I said, "I don't understand what Mukundan told me to dig a hole in that place." Then I boldly added, "This thing with a stick is different..." Chiromani continued as if oblivious to this.
"Suddenly at the end of the year - there was no year - there was a solar eclipse. Bhairava, which did not disappear even when the sun disappeared in the sun, disappeared during the solar eclipse. Then it did not appear. Even though Balu had learned about the mystical nature of the sun through his mother, he gave the same description as before in his nature. Even the solar eclipse. It was Bhairava who explained the connection with the disappearance of the statue to Sri Neelakandapremi. I was told this matter only recently. After the disappearance of Bhairava, Nagaiyar told the workers to dig a hole in the place. Nagaiyar's miracle in the yard echoed in every way in the house and in the village, the workers said 'Nanga Matom Sami'. They ran away. Balu was the first to oppose Nagayar when he tried to dig the hole himself. At that time, Mukundan was the one who opened the tin door and went in. Even now my sister has opened her heart and said that she would tell the father what the son opposed.
"The straight line of Sun, Moon and Prithivi and the tearing of the spade tongue of Mukundan as the vibration caused in the Nilakantha.
. The earth is crooked. Middle of the house: divided. Neelakanda's form was transformed into the perverse forces of Prithivi under the earth. The Nagas, who did not understand this, also thought that Bhairav was spoiling our land by some magical tricks.
He hit Bhairava with a thick stick with his own hand, the witnesses were Betham and some other Harijans.. The police never took up the case. If Sri Nee La Kandapremi had not intervened, other innocent Harijans would have been attacked,'' Chiromani punctuated with an emphatic pause in her voice.
Is that all?
I was waiting for something more - a logical conclusion to events.
But the continuation didn't run and Chiromani sat absorbed in silence.
I was overcome by a moral fatigue, * Who is Nagai? Nagar? Doesn't he get wrapped up in causal logic?' That's what a green adolescent voice in me began to shout carrying philosophical elements.
Nee La Kandapremi's blue eyes narrowed and widened through the bushy fur of her thick, white eyebrows, staring past me. The silence lasted. As I tried to break the silence with the wordless hollow roll of my voice, a figure came stealthily from within and bent down to pick up the empty tumbler from which I had sipped. The old man ate what Beth had fed him a while ago, occasionally gagging instead of swallowing. Siromani turned her head and looked at him and said, "Nagu?"
'The reprimand that rolled into my voice was startled and disappeared into a charred black line in a sudden rage. The old man looked at me quizzically with the toothless smile of a tarnished and polished child. His nose, surprisingly, protruded from his face like the kalyana of the Rathamandapa I had seen somewhere. Beneath bushy brows were sparkling watery eyes that searched a dark depth. Before his query could be uttered - within me
The heart's sensory sphere, which had expanded beyond the nose-shaped knowledge of shame that interjected with a 'don't', stood awake on the verge of breaking into tears. Something beyond the measure of words touched this sense center untouchably, as a colorless, deep-blue fineness, as the great mystery of one's inner support, as nothingness without dharma-dharmas.
Dev Kosha Poojit
Typing : Deetsanya Ra, Ra Ra Ku
and ADOBE SCAN , GOOGLE-OCR
