–Editor's choice
The streets of Puttaparthi had a deserted look. People preferred to stay indoors due to the sweltering heat. The Sun god was menacingly hitting down with mercury touching forty two. Hot winds were sweeping across the town as if countless dragons were breathing fire. Dogs were constantly wagging their tongues taking refuge in the shade of a building or the porch of a shop by the road. Couple of crows were perched on an electrical pole with their beaks wide open. Few people moving on the roads were sporting different headgears like caps, hats and head scarves. I endured the incessant heat and walked on the deserted road with a parched throat, dry tongue, feet tottering and beads of sweat rolling down my face.
Watermelon stall at the corner of the road with pieces of red juicy watermelon on display was a temptation difficult to resist. I fell for the temptation and joined the exclusive league of people enjoying this colourful fruit.
Taking a bite I asked the hawker, a young man with a strong, muscular personality a thick moustache, and a jovial temperament, who was himself partaking his share of this summer delight, " Is it so hot during this time of the year, as it is just first week of April?" He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with his forearm, spit few seeds, looked into my eyes and a distant mirage on the dark asphalt road and said with a deep sigh, "Sir! it is generally this hot this time of summer, but we are feeling the pinch more due to absence of the cool and comforting presence of our moon-like lord", with tears deceiving his facade of toughness. " We used to forget all our trials and tribulations when we used to have His darshan even once a week. The withdrawal of His reassuring presence makes us feel like orphans," he rued.
I left the place but his melancholy followed me. I started musing over the void which Swami has left in the lives of His devotees. A sense of gloominess which I tried to leave behind a year ago, returned to me and my mind remained somber throughout the day. I was sitting in our porch, my mind meandering through the familiar thoughts and convictions of His return. I prayed fervently to Swami to show me a way.
I felt a whiff of breeze caressing my cheeks. I was surprised to feel a slight coolness in this breeze unlike the usual blast of hot air. As I gazed into the sky , I found the eastern horizon taking a darker hue from the customary azure.
My heart missed a beat. I was thrilled at a prospect of witnessing the first rain of this summer. The thunders and lightning announced the arrival of rain. I was waiting with bated breath for the first raindrops to quench the thirst of the parched earth. Finally they came like pearls falling from the heavens, overwhelming me with the aroma of first rain. Boisterous children took to the street and started dancing and splashing the water collected in the pot holes on the road. Sparrows and Myenas were taking a dip in the rain water collected in a bowl on our terrace, vigorously shaking their plumage to keep it dry. All roads became waterways, water merging into one big rivulet, cascading down the gradual slope of Gopuram Road, the aorta of Puttaparthi. It rained cats and dogs bringing relief to all the denizens of Parthi.
My mind recollected a verse from the celebrated poem 'Think of Me' written by Swami published in Prema Dhara:
When I sprinkle your face with rain
and wash the earth, the dry brown leaves
The first smell of clean rain
I am cleansing you
Think of Me.
Swami, I know, you answered my prayer in your inimitable style.
The streets of Puttaparthi had a deserted look. People preferred to stay indoors due to the sweltering heat. The Sun god was menacingly hitting down with mercury touching forty two. Hot winds were sweeping across the town as if countless dragons were breathing fire. Dogs were constantly wagging their tongues taking refuge in the shade of a building or the porch of a shop by the road. Couple of crows were perched on an electrical pole with their beaks wide open. Few people moving on the roads were sporting different headgears like caps, hats and head scarves. I endured the incessant heat and walked on the deserted road with a parched throat, dry tongue, feet tottering and beads of sweat rolling down my face.
Watermelon stall at the corner of the road with pieces of red juicy watermelon on display was a temptation difficult to resist. I fell for the temptation and joined the exclusive league of people enjoying this colourful fruit.
Taking a bite I asked the hawker, a young man with a strong, muscular personality a thick moustache, and a jovial temperament, who was himself partaking his share of this summer delight, " Is it so hot during this time of the year, as it is just first week of April?" He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with his forearm, spit few seeds, looked into my eyes and a distant mirage on the dark asphalt road and said with a deep sigh, "Sir! it is generally this hot this time of summer, but we are feeling the pinch more due to absence of the cool and comforting presence of our moon-like lord", with tears deceiving his facade of toughness. " We used to forget all our trials and tribulations when we used to have His darshan even once a week. The withdrawal of His reassuring presence makes us feel like orphans," he rued.
I left the place but his melancholy followed me. I started musing over the void which Swami has left in the lives of His devotees. A sense of gloominess which I tried to leave behind a year ago, returned to me and my mind remained somber throughout the day. I was sitting in our porch, my mind meandering through the familiar thoughts and convictions of His return. I prayed fervently to Swami to show me a way.
I felt a whiff of breeze caressing my cheeks. I was surprised to feel a slight coolness in this breeze unlike the usual blast of hot air. As I gazed into the sky , I found the eastern horizon taking a darker hue from the customary azure.
My heart missed a beat. I was thrilled at a prospect of witnessing the first rain of this summer. The thunders and lightning announced the arrival of rain. I was waiting with bated breath for the first raindrops to quench the thirst of the parched earth. Finally they came like pearls falling from the heavens, overwhelming me with the aroma of first rain. Boisterous children took to the street and started dancing and splashing the water collected in the pot holes on the road. Sparrows and Myenas were taking a dip in the rain water collected in a bowl on our terrace, vigorously shaking their plumage to keep it dry. All roads became waterways, water merging into one big rivulet, cascading down the gradual slope of Gopuram Road, the aorta of Puttaparthi. It rained cats and dogs bringing relief to all the denizens of Parthi.
My mind recollected a verse from the celebrated poem 'Think of Me' written by Swami published in Prema Dhara:
When I sprinkle your face with rain
and wash the earth, the dry brown leaves
The first smell of clean rain
I am cleansing you
Think of Me.
Swami, I know, you answered my prayer in your inimitable style.
No comments:
Post a Comment