The Pilgrim
Vishvanathan was on his way to Ayodhya to be a volunteer in the historic Ram Mandir construction work. Local Vishva Hindu Parishad leader Neelakantan contacted Shriram Janmabhoomi Teerth Ksetra in Ayodhya and got permission for Kara sevak. Vishvanathan realized the meaning of his life for the first time.
We must travel back a little bit to understand the life of Vishvanathan. He was born in an orthodox Brahmin family of Seshadhri Iyer as the second son, a God fearing and pious guy. He was moderate in his studies right from his childhood. Computer animation attracted him and he joined Bachelor of Engineering Course in SRM University but he scraped through his course in seven years instead of the four years, thanks to his bag full of arrears.
While working as Tech Assistant in a little known job recruitment agency for 8,000 rupees salary per month in Bangalore, he pursued his passion to go to USA and join as Computer Animation Programmer in any reputed studio in Las Vegas, his dreamland. He entertained this dream after seeing the Oceanic series of Brad Pitt in HBO Channel. He studied known and unknown on line courses from genuine and fake institutes and within two years he had a file full of diploma certificates and his ego ballooned as big as solar system. Las Vegas was a matter of hours from Bangalore through Jet Airways Boeing flight.
His father sold his paddy field, coconut plantation and 20 cows to meet his education expenses and personal expenses and was still sending additional money to manage the extra educational and personal expenses of his only son. His hope rested on two assumptions; high profile job for his son in Las Vegas and the marriage of Pramila , the daughter of his rich sister.
His flat mate – Ramachandran, a radical Brahmin – was working in Infosys as Team Manager and earning five figure salary. He introduced him to the world of galaxies, black holes and Big Bang. Slowly but steadily quantum physics was destroying his existential base – God, Heaven and Hell had been slowly disappearing like drop of dew before the sun. Vishvanathan was not aware of the spiritual catastrophe he was heading towards.
Everything happened in a flash!
He woke up one day with panic enveloping his whole being. He felt a chilling cold in his belly. Instead of Las Vegas, it was Death that preoccupied his mind. He applied for leave and sat and moved like a zombie in his room. He remained sleepless and with minimum food for three days. Ramachandran felt something wrong and summoned the paternal uncle of Vishvanathan to the flat. Neelakantan, highly educated uncle of Vishvanathan, diagnosed the problem – spiritual collapse and panic syndrome.
His immediate concern was to take him to a psychiatric doctor. Dr. Alexon prescribed Hypnosed, Escalate, Prolam and a few more steroids and multi vitamins.
He assured Vishvanathan and Neelakantan with a concern in his face.
“No problem! Okay! Sleep and rest will do.”
Then he turned to Vishvanathan and said gently “avoid over thinking and focus on the present. Buy Joseph Murphy’s book ‘The Power of Your Subconscious Mind’ and read and re read it. You will be okay soon”
Vishvanathan resigned his job and accompanied his uncle to his village in Vadiveeswaram in Nagercoil.. Neelakantan had already informed Vishvanathan’s family not to disturb him. He stayed with him for two weeks. Being a staunch and orthodox Hindu in spite of his doctorate in physics, Neelakantan manipulated this opportunity to brainwash Vishvanathan to follow the Hindutva Ideology.
He preached the Gospel of Bhagavad-Gita and convinced Vishvanathan that God was within all creations. Man could only experience God through his actions to fulfill the divine duty assigned to him. The only way to realize God and the meaning in one’s life was to go to an ashram and experience Enlightenment from a Guru. Finally he won the game. He convinced Vishvanathan to go to Swamiji Premanandha’s Ashram and then go to Ayodhya to be a Kara Sevak in the construction of Ram Mandir in Ayodhya. Then God Rama would direct him from within to proceed further.
His first destination was Berighai in Hosur. There was an ashram in 600 acre land. Swamiji Premanandha had been spreading the gospel of love through his spiritual teachings from Hindu scriptures and restoring Mother Nature through sustainable natural farming practices. The devotees, both residents and visitors, got poison free food and spiritual healing through his mystic powers. Neelakantan advised him to stay for three months to complete Siddha Samathi Yoga, Bhava Samadhi and experience Enlightenment. This would strengthen his inner resolve to involve without any wavering in his holy commitment to contribute to the construction of Ram Temple. He should stay and participate in the holy ritual of Kumbhabhishekam which would homogenize, synergize and unite the mystic powers of the deity Ram Lalla. Vishvanathan preferred break up journey to visit holy places on the way.
Neelakantan explained the route map in detail with the help of Google map and the resting places in Karnataka, and Varanasi in Uttar Pradesh before he could join as Kara sevak in building the holy temple.
He saw him off from the Nagercoil Bus Terminal. .
Vishvanathan fell into a deep slumber in the bus and had a beautiful dream. This is the dream; He is now in Varanasi and has a bath in the Holy River Ganges as it will take him directly to heaven after his death, so Neelakantan assured him prior to his journey. He stands awe struck at the magnificence of the Ram Mandir and the Ram Lalla Virajman – the infant Rama – enshrined in the Sanctum Sanctorum of the grand temple. He is felicitated by the members of the Shri Ram Janmabhoomi Teerth Kshethra for his laudable and committed work as a true Kara Sevak. He is in a state of trance to see the glitter and glamour of the sprawling Temple with its glossy floors, illuminating chandeliers hanging from the roof high above, and dazzling golden lamps in the sanctum sanctorum. This is the paradise of the earth, so cries out his soul from within.
The bustling within the bus along with the scratching sound of drawing the big suitcases from the above long cabin of the bus woke him up and he queried the neighbor “Hosur?”
“Yes” came the curt reply.
Sipping tea and shivering within thanks to the chilly climate above 3000 feet sea level, he enquired the tea master about the next bus available to Berighai. He pointed out one corner of the terminal and said” go there and all the buses with 2 serial , say 2A, 2B, 2C, 2D will go”. After a pause, he enquired “where are you going in Berighai?”
“Swamiji Premanandha’s Ashram”
Vishvanathan failed to notice a sudden change in the demeanor of his face. It flashed a subtle contempt and disdain.
With the guidance of Google map, Vishvanathan reached the Ashram at 9.30 am still the chill irritated him. At the entrance, a tough looking man, may be ex- serviceman, greeted him grimly and talked like a robot.
“Name?”
“Vishvanathan”
Checking the computer, he murmured “from Kanyakumari reference Neelakantan “
He directed him towards the office of the Ashram.
Vishvanathan was overwhelmed by the beauty and serenity of the sprawling 600 acres ashram. He was walking with his luggage along the interlock tiled path. Flowers with bewitching colors danced to the chilling breeze of the morning. Few yards away, huge trees – timber and fruit yielding trees- with large canopy covers created an illusion of a forest. On the left side, far away vast tracts of green bushes covered the land- millets, corns, cereals, and paddy. On the right side sprawling horticulture garden was spreading endlessly.
Swarms of different sizes of butterflies, small and big dragonflies, and honey bees were balancing with the dancing flowers and drinking nectars. Cranes and peacocks were present in the fields to get their daily bread. Ash colored doves flew away from nowhere at the sight of a stranger. But he was puzzled over a large concrete storage structure under the cover of the canopy of the large trees. He reasoned that they might be godowns for food materials for the inmates. He did not have the faint suspicion that they would give him a spiritual shock soon.
The receptionist welcomed him with a smile that seemed to emanate from her heart.
Yoga trainings had been transforming him every day and elevating his spiritual life higher and higher. The 30 trainees had been dissolving into each other and started enjoying the universal love binding them together.
But Vishvanathan witnessed a strange incident on the 26th day of his arrival. Every day after the evening session, the trainees had a break to spend their time in games, group discussion or leisurely stroll in the garden. But the curiosity of Vishvanathan sent him deep into the thick cover of mini forest where the cottage of Swamiji Premanandha was located. He wanted to have a personal discussion and sharing with the Swamiji. The watchman cum security guard was in the toilet. As he neared the cottage he was startled to smell marijuana entering his nostrils through the breeze. This was followed by giggling and sweet nothings by some girls. Suddenly the watchman appeared from nowhere, raised his long cane and drove Vishvanathan away with a stern warning “mind your business! Don’t dare to enter here.”
Next day, Swamiji made a sharp comment “those who attend the yoga classes focus only on the training. Do not involve in unnecessary activities” and stared for a moment at Vishvanathan.
He attended the yoga classes with an agitated mind and sleepless nights haunted him. One week later, he was sitting in one corner of the open terrace in the night as he was disturbed in mind, sleep evaded him. He was curious to notice that a motor bike entering into the gate and the bike rider handed over a large cotton bag to the watchman who took out and counted the number of small bundles, called somebody over the mobile. The security of the Swamiji appeared with a bundle of currency notes, got the bag and disappeared into the thick forest cover.
The final day was a memorable event for many participants. Many cried with ecstasy and hugged each other. Pure vegetarian diet, herbal drinks and meditation enhanced the health of all the participants except Vishvanathan. Everybody touched the feet of Swamiji and departed. Vishvanathan also did that but left the Ashram with a heavy heart.
He was on his way to Varanasi but an unfortunate flash strike by all transport workers unions in Vijayawada temporarily halted his journey. He was stranded in Vijayawada. All the lodges had been full and heavy police patrol was warning the people to clear off the road and bus stand. He dragged his luggage bag along the A.S Rama Rao Road to find a moderate lodging. While he reached LIC Colony he came across a neatly clad old aged Muslim who welcomed him with Namaste and gestured to enter into a half opened Bawa Hotel.
Vishvanathan frowned and displayed contempt in his demeanor at the sight of a Muslim. Neelakantan had already poisoned his mind with anti-Muslim ideology. “Muslims and Christians are evils out to destroy the soul of Mother India through conversion. They are the agents of capitalism and money is their God. Vatican is more important to Christians than Delhi so also Mecca is more important to Muslims than Delhi.” The words of his uncle are still ringing his ears.
But Salaludhin, the proprietor of Bawa Hotel, displayed a serene smile and hospitality in his body language. But he noticed a fanatic Hindu in Vishvanathan with the multi-color threads tied around his wrist, viboothi (sacred ash powder ) pasted on his forehead and part of the poonool ( the sacred thread) visible inside the upper part of his shirt. But he was indifferent to such outward shows.
“Have you had your breakfast?” asked Salaludhin
“No”
“All shops are closed. The fear of violence in Vijayawada is very high. It may flare up or not”
For the first time Vishvanathan experienced fear. But Salaludhin comforted him. “Don’t worry. You are safe here”
“Want to take a bath”
“Lodge or hotel only “queried Vishvanathan.
“Home for guests and hotel for customers. You are my guest”
Vishvanathan felt shame and murmured “better to have a bath”
He took him upstairs and knocked a room. Three Muslim boys appeared. “This is Vishvanathan, our guest till situation is normal outside. Vacate the room” commanded Salaludhin. His tone carried concern and not authority.
After the bath Salaludhin served him idly, chutney and vadai.
“Veg or non-veg hotel?”
“Both. But you prefer vegetarian food right” so said Salaludhin while glancing at his poonool inside his shirt.
“Where are you heading for?”
“Ayodhya to serve as Kara Sevak in Ram Mandir”
‘Wonderful! It will be the soul of India”
Vishvanathan was stunned to disbelief at these words. A Muslim praising Ram Temple as the soul of India!!
He led Vishvanathan to his room and the three boys carried a wooden chair, a portrait of Sri Rama with Seetha, a silver vessel to hold perfume sticks, a packet of perfume sticks and a copper small lamp used by Hindus during prayer. Vishvanathan was looking at these things with unbelievable reaction in his face. Salaludhin asked him politely to perform his religious obligations, take rest and assured him of three times food and snacks in between. He refused politely for the cost of hospitality.
Vishvanathan was a bit ashamed of developing hatred towards Muslims without proper understanding. He felt a bit irritated over his uncle Neelakantan who brainwashed him to develop such hatred.
Next day, he invited Salaludhin for a discussion to clear a misunderstanding that was tormenting him.
“Why do you hate Hindus and convert the poor into Islam? “asked Vishvanathan
Once again with a serene smile, Salaludhin replied” we neither hate Hindus nor India. We never resort to conversion. We never believe in conversion. But every man has a right to embrace a religion of his choice. Tomorrow my daughter may embrace Hinduism but I will not protest her right”
Vishvanathan was defenseless against this simple logic.
Next day transport system was restored and Salaludhin said bye to him and asked him to meet Rev. Fr. Stan in Varanasi. He had done his doctoral thesis on Swami Vivekananda and his secularism.
He reached Varanasi two days later. He was oscillating between whether to meet Fr, Stan or not. Finally he decided to meet him for the sake of Swami Vivekananda.
Fr. Stan was 82 years old and suffering from Parkinson syndrome. He was working among the tribal communities in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar for their social justice. Vishvanathan was surprised to find his simplicity. It was a one room home with a toilet attached to it. It was also his bed room and office room. Sisters from the Good Shepherd Convent provided food to him.
Vishvanathan spent one week with him. Sisters arranged his accommodation and food. The brief stay completely transformed him. He realized that Church, Temple or Mosque had no relevance to the spirituality of a man. But a man could release the meaning of his life through his unconditional love towards the poor and vulnerable. Fr. Stan worked for 12 hours a day in writing petitions, conducting training programs on human rights, representing the poor to get justice through court for which he would never charge fees. He was also an advocate. Vishvanathan was speechless when he came to know that Fr. Stan held two doctorates, – one on the secularism of Swami Vivekananda from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi and another on International Human Rights Laws on Minorities from Harvard University. A book titled “Demolition of Babri Masjid – a case study on the violation of the human rights of Minorities” by Dr. Stan in his book shelf tormented his conscience because such was the affection and care bestowed on him by Fr. Stan and the Sisters.
Vishvanathan found himself helpless against an old fragile man whose spirit was stronger than steel. On the sixth day, he asked Fr. Stan that he wanted to involve in some activities that would help the poor get social justice.
He stared into the face of Vishvanathan for some time and said, “If these words come from your heart, then go to Delhi and participate in the farmers’ struggle till they get justice. Have you heard of the three anti farmers Acts enacted by the Union Government.?”
“Yes, Father” said Vishvanathan politely.
“Do you believe that these Acts will improve the lives of the farmers or benefit the corporate business houses?”
Without thinking for a moment, Vishvanathan said “The Acts will benefit only the corporate business houses”
“Yes! You are right! That is why the entire farmers’ community has been waging a struggle for social justice. You go there and study the situation. If you get a meaning in life there, join the struggle till the farmers win. If you don’t get a meaning in life, return back and proceed to Ayodhya and be a Kara Sevak. God within you may show you the meaning of your life”
He scribbled the name and mobile number of two persons from Tamilnadu who had been in the agitation for the last two months and advised him to contact them once he reached Delhi.
After a long journey Vishvanathan found himself in the famous agitation area of the ‘Punjab Farmers’. He was baffled to see large contingent of Indian army personnel cordoned off the area and cut it off from the rest of India. He understood that it was Singu -Tikri border. The word’ border’ further confused him as border line exists between two countries. Vishvanathan felt agitated over the scenario. He asked himself “why the Indian media did not report this dark reality to the people.” For the first time he was suspicious of his uncle Neelakantan.
He contacted Anbu through WhatsApp and he replied back instantly with a reply thus: “Turn to the right and walk for 500 meters, I will be there. Please see my photo below”
Anbu greeted him with a warm and friendly hug. He brought him safe through a rough terrain, probably a village towards the land of the farmers’ agitation. It was not an agitation ground as defamed by the media. He looked with amazement at the thickly crowded but well-disciplined township. Chillness foretold the coming of the severe winter and Vishvanathan was trembling within. Sensing his difficulty, Anbu got him hot tea from the nearby Langar. Then Anbu introduced him to the dress section handled by an international donor agency. There was a long queue standing before the delivery section to get woollen clothes. When Anbu informed the crowd that his friend was from Tamilnadu” the crowd gave way and he took Vishvanathan to the dress room and asked him to take as much thick woollen garments as possible with a warning word” Vishvanathan! You had no taste of snow and chilling cold here. Be prepared for that”
Then he took them to a tent, arranged for food and asked him to take rest.
Next day morning Anbu took him around the Farmers Protest arena. Vishvanathan thought whether he was in a wonderland. He asked him “How large this area is?”
“Vishu,” there was an intimacy in his tone; “this is a huge area. National Highway one. It is more than 650 hectares in area. One historian told me this ground can accommodate two smallest countries of the United Nations, say Vatican and Luxembourg and still we have vast tract of land. “
Vishvanathan was dumbfounded and asked “How many people are here?”
“Estimates vary. But the Chief Coordinator of the agitation Pratab Singh told me that more than one million farmers from Punjab, Haryana, North Uttar Pradesh and rest of the country are assembled here. Around two lakh tractors are here and they serve as temporary shelters for the agitators. He is 84 years old but you cannot tackle him.”
“Who is managing such a vast crowd? What a discipline and order in the crowd”. Anbu sensing the amazement in his voice said “The entire .logistics is managed by retired army officers and educated volunteers. Have you not seen a beautiful girl in the Langar who served your first tea? She holds a doctorate in English literature. She got appointment order in Chandigarh University when the Farmer’s agitation over the three notorious Bills broke out. She declined the lucrative job and joined as a volunteer in Langar.
You must understand a bit about langar that sustains the struggle against all odds. In Sikhism, a langar is the community kitchen of a gurdwara, which serves meals to all free of charge, regardless of religion, caste, gender, economic status, or ethnicity. People sit on the floor and eat together, and the kitchen is maintained and serviced by Sikh community volunteers. It is the sacred duty of the gurdwara to feed those who are hungry and every Sikh considers it his sacred obligation to support the langar through cash or kind.
He took him to the cultural troupes involved in media advocacy through cultural programs. There were 10 women, mostly girls, and 5 boys.
Vishvanathan, being a born musician, could not resist the North Indian Bhangra beats. He took up a ‘parai’ – an instrument used by Scheduled Caste communities – and started beating it to match the dance movements of the cultural troupe. There was a roar of approval from the audience.
Then gathering asked Vishvanathan to perform a musical program. He explained the lyric in English to a Punjabi youth who knew English. The Punjabi youth explained it in Punjabi language to the local audience. .Vishvanathan got a sudden inspiration from within by the acceptance of the unknown assembly of people who recognized his skills and talent even though they had not heard his song. He danced like a man possessed, beating his parai with high decibel and fast pace like a rock music drummer. His voice roared like a lion when he touched topics like social justice and human suffering. He inherited these skills while he was in the school. He brought out the anger and agony of the oppressed through his body language. Now the entire cultural troupe joined him and accompanied to his music with their dance movements.
Till after noon, he enjoyed a lot of folk programs honouring the heroes of Punjab including Baghath Singh.
In the evening Anbu took him to a group of artists who drew cartoons on the draconian farm laws and the greed of multinational companies. The social media group took photographs of those cartoons and sent them through YouTube and WhatsApp outside the agitation arena. They took to wings and reached as far as Europe and America.
Every day as dusk settled down, Vishvanathan noticed an educated girl teaching literacy and numeric skills to a group of well-dressed children. She taught them to draw pictures with crayons and pencils. The children called her ‘theethi’. Again Anbu explained; “she did her post graduate in education. Her name is Amarjot Kaur. She is enacting one element of the Indian Freedom struggle strategy. Have you heard of Veranda Teachers in Tamilnadu during the Independence Movement? They collected one handful of rice from the parents of the rural poor children. The parents handed over their children to the veranda teachers. They conducted classes and imparted education to the children in the veranda of any household. They also cooked food for the children. They would teach the parents the need for independence movement and the strategies of Ghadhiji.”
Vishvanathan murmured, “What an amazing similarity. Gandhi is still alive”
Anbu explained that education of children and free food to children from the surrounding villages by educated volunteers was a strategy to outwit the army and the government that were hell bent to end the agitation by all means available except violence. Continued Anbu “Indian Army has closed all roads from Punjab and Haryana to the protest area. The idea is to cut the supply of wheat, dhal, flour and all provisions for the langar. Starvation will end the agitation, so the government reasoned. But the convoys of trucks take out unchartered rough and hard terrains of the Indian villages and reach here with the support of the villagers and unload the provisions. This is how the village community display their solidarity with us for the service we render to their children.”
Vishvanathan wanted to clarify a doubt lingering in his mind. “Anbu, the media has been focusing this as a struggle launched by Sikh community. But I could see a lot of people from other parts of India. What is happening here?”
Anbu clarified; “Indian media has no spine to resist the government. May be they are as corrupt as the politicians. There is undeclared censorship. They publish or telecast what the government wants. People from all over India, say from Kanyakumari to Haryana participate in this struggle. Even farmers from northern part of Uttar Pradesh participate. But Sikhs outnumber them. Moreover, the retired army personnel organise it into a disciplined struggle. I have a strong faith in the power of the people. In future, the people will rule India, not the politicians.” Vishvanathan could sense a rock solid faith in the words of Anbu.
Time flew like lightning. It is more than one month since his arrival. Vishvanathan slowly found himself dissolving with the huge assembly of people from all over India. They were filled with love for social justice. Caste, religion and ethnicity had no value there.
He realized the meaning of his life at last. Love your brothers and sisters and sacrifice your life for social justice.
On November 20th, 2021, the Government of India announced the repeal of the three draconian Farm Laws and made amendments in the ensuing winter Parliament session.
Both Anbu and Vishvanathan hugged the farmers with tears and departed.
Vishvanathan is no more a follower of Hindutva. He is a pilgrim in the journey of life to protect social justice and the right to land of the farmers through collective action.
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