Madhusudhan Dada of the Forest

(This is a retelling of a Popular Bengali folk tale.  Submitted by Rudraditya as his class project on story writing)

 Once there was an small boy, named Jotil, who lived in a small village. The village was in the middle of a forest.  He lived with his father, mother and little sister.  His father was a farmer and mother a housewife.  The village had about 20 other huts and a small shop. The shop was run by the village headman and Jotil’s father helped out in the running the shop.

Jotil used to go to school to a nearby village for which he had to pass through a forest through a small path. In the morning his mother would take him to the school and in the evening his father would bring him back in his cycle. Those were happy times and he used to look forward to riding in the cycle with his father.

One year the rains were less and it was not possible to farm. Jotil’s father has to leave for a faraway town to earn money for the family.  Jotil, his mother and sister stayed back in the village.  Once Jotil’s father left his mother’s work also increased since she not only had to do everything at home, but also work in the village shop to make sure she earned some money.

Jotil was required to go to the school alone.  He was just about 8 years old then.

He was very afraid and on the first day he ran all the way to school and back, sobbing and shivering with fear. In the evening he set near his mother and narrated his trip to school, how scared he was and that unless his mother came with him, he wouldn’t go to the school any more.

His mother smiled gently at him and told, - “Silly boy, why are you scared. Your brother Madhusudhan Dada stays in the forest. If you are scared call him, he will accompany you.”

The next day, Jotil cautiously entered the forest and started running towards the school crying – Madhusudhan Dada, Madhusudhan Dada.  No one came and presently he reach school. In the evening the same thing happened. 

He came and told his mother about Madhusudhan Dada’s nonappearance and all she told was that you mustn’t have called hard enough.  Somehow Jotil didn’t believe her but thought he would try anyway.

Soon Jotil got quite used to crossing the forest and would make a call to Madhusudhan Dada before starting and then run all the way to the other side.

One day after the classes he got to playing with his friends and didn’t notice that the sun had almost gone down.  In panic he run into the forest to go to home. 

In the darkness he lost his way and realized he had no idea where he was, where he should go and what he should do. The dusk was fast becoming night and the forest creatures were waking up.  He could feel that he was being watched by numerous eyes of the forest creatures.  The big trees of the forests rose up like big and dark monsters whose arms swayed as the wind passed through. 

He stood crying for he didn’t know what to do.  He called out for his mother but he knew that she wasn’t there to hear him. He hoped his father would come and find him, but father was at a faraway town. 

He finally remember what his mother had told, that Madhusudhan Dada stayed in the forest and that he had not called him hard enough. 

So with all the might in his small body Jotil cried out – “Madhusudhan Dada, please show yourself. Please show yourself.  I have no one else to turn to.  Only you can help me."

“Mother has told me that if I need you, you will come. Why are you not coming?”

Every sound appeared to him the footstep of his Madhusudhan Dada and he fully expected him to appear before him.  He called out him nonstop and with his mind only on him.

Suddenly from distance he heard the soft music of someone playing flute.  At the melodious sound of the flute all his fear went away because he knew help was near.

Presently he saw another boy just a little bit older than Jotil himself come and stand in front of him. Jotil was so overcome with relief that he jumped up and hugged the boy, who hugged him back. 

“I know you are my Madhusudhan Dada”, Jotil said.

“Yes, I am, Jotil”, said Madhusudhan Dada.   He was slightly taller than Jotil, had a flute in his hand and a feather was stuck in his hair on one side.  Somehow even in the darkness he looked as if he was shining.

“Why did you not come before Dada?  I have been calling you for so many days.”  Jotil asked.

“I was always there, keeping an eye on you Jotil.  However I didn’t think you really needed me to be present with you.  Today you did and called out. Here I am. Simple.”  Madhusudhan Dada smiled.

Hand in hand they crossed the forest and reach Jotil’s village.  Jotil thanked his Dada and ran straight home to the arms of his waiting and worried mother.

From that day Jotil was never alone in the Forest, since he had learnt how to call out for his Madhusudhan Dada.

***

The Lady of Lake Barapani: Part II

The Story So Far:  Lady of Lake Barapani: Part I

I can feel the chill even today when I think of that fateful night on the banks of Lake Barapani. A heady mix of adrenaline in my blood and raw fear in my mind drove me to physical feats that I can never imagine to have done on a normal day. Or night.  But when you have literally seen a Ghost and have had it follow you, it is no longer Normal. Reason leaves you completely and primal survival instinct takes over.

Coming back to my narrative, there I was, knocking like a mad man at the door of that solitary hut that I had run to in order to save myself from a chasing Ghost. 

No answer.  Though I could see that faint light was seeping outside through the cracks in the wall, nothing inside moved.  All around the wind was getting worse by the minute.  I dared not look back, but I could feel it in my bones that the lady in while was standing but a few steps behind. After a while the door opened slightly and a small kerosene lamp was shoved at my face. This momentarily blinded me as I had been in pitch darkness for so long and I didn’t know who it was behind the lamp.

“Kon? Kya mangta hai?”, a rough rasping male voice asked me who I was and what I wanted.

 “I am trouble. Please may I get shelter for a little while?” I stammered in Hindi with a voice shaking like a reed.

Silence. 

I still couldn’t see who I was talking.  After a minute the voice spoke again in the same rasping voice that comes of years of smoking cheap beedis and God knows what else.

“Come inside.”  I could feel the reluctance in the voice, but I was past caring and rushed inside. Once inside I saw the only other source of light in the room was an earthen stove in the room that we call chulah, fueled by firewood. It was also little smoky inside making me cough. The side of the wall close to that stove was broken to let some of the smoke out, which is how I had possibly seen the light from a distance. I closed my eyes and took great gulps of air.  As oxygen reached by lungs and from it to the rest of my body I could feel life seeping back slowly into my body. 

Only to rush back out again!

As I opened my eyes I saw the most grotesque face ever regarding me intently.  The owner of the disembodied voice, my reluctant host had raised his small kerosene lamp to inspect me and in doing so had exposed his own hideous face.  Believe me when I say that as a surgeon there’s little I haven’t see and it takes much to rattle me. But now it totally did. The fellows face seemed to have been half eaten by some strange fungus. One eye was completely clouded while the other, the seeing one was blood shot. Lips upturned on one side into a permanent snarl. Shrunken cheeks, grey hairs on a balding head, he look around sixty five to seventy years of age. An inadvertent gasp escaped my throat which appeared to anger him slightly.

To cut the tension, I asked him whether I could get some water to drink.  Again the same silence for a minute as he bored into my head with his one seeing eye. 

Slowly the man ambled over to a dark part of the room and returned with an earthen pot with water.  The water of Shillong is very palatable even normally because of the minerals that it contains, but right then it seem nothing short of being pure nectar. I finished the pot and handed back to him with a thanks.

“Paisa lagega”, in broken Hindi he said, will cost you money.

“Eh?”

“Rukne ka paisa lagega”. Will cost you money to take shelter here.

“Kitna”, I asked ready to pay.

“Pachas Rupiya”, 50 Rupees was a princely sum in those days but I immediately paid.

This however brought down my tension level as well. If someone was after your money, at least they were human. 

After a while I asked for some water to wash myself as I was caked in mud from head to toe.  He pointed at the same general direction from which he got my drinking water. Outside a low doorway I found a small tin bucket in which rain water was being collected at the back of the hut. On it was floating a pot like the one from which I had drunk water!  So that’s where my water came from I thought. Well, no matter. I thoroughly washed myself and took a full bath even with my cloths on to rid myself of the mud. I was soon clean and completely wet. As I returned I found myself facing the same weird gaze.  I slowly averted my eyes and kept looking at the fire burning on stove.  Outside the wind howled like an angry beast and the walls of the small hut shook with each gust.  The rain had eased a bit but the lighting and thunder continued.

“Chai piyega”, he asked me for tea.  I knew it was a ploy to get more money but I said yes. Not only was I unwilling to make him angry but also it was true that the prospect of a cup of tea didn’t sound too bad, wet and miserable as I was.  I nodded my consent. As the old man left the hut to get my cup of tea, I moved closer to the stove to warm up a bit. I was still soaked from the fully clothed bath that I had taken.  

***

I must have dozed off a little was I sat cross legged in front stove. I woke up with a start when the main door opened behind me and a gust of cold rain soaked wind hit my back.  “Ah Tea,” I thought as I shook off my slumber, got up and slowly turned out.  It wasn’t one person who had entered room.  About ten to twelve people had silent got in the room and were looking at me with looking at me with piercing murderous eyes. 

If I had experienced panic before, this time it was sheer mind numbing terror that gripped and totally immobilized me.

Each face was as hideous to behold as my host’s if not more and around the same age as him.  No words were needed to explain what they wanted, for in every hand there was a knife or a club. None in the group was even trying to hide either their murderous intent or the implements that they were planning to accomplish that with.  I looked on back at them like a dumb statue, my knees shaking violently in fear of my impending death.  I felt just like what a rat feels in the final moments before a snake sinks its fangs into him. My host came forward from within the group, with the promised tumbler of tea in his hand.  With a quick movement he thrust it towards my face and barked.'

“Pi Le!”  Drink!

With hands that were shaking I took the dirty glass tumbler but instead of drinking stared back at the old man dumbly.

“Drink”. He spat the word again in Hindi, as the rest of his fellows started closing in.

A miracle happened at that very instant.

The rickety door flew open, accompanied with a flash of lightning.  There standing on the threshold was the Lady in white dress with her clear unblinking eyes fixed at the gang.

There was a collective exclamation of fear from the group as they screamed, shouted in fear.

“Ruh, Ruh!  Issai Janana ki Ruh!”   Ghost, Ghost. Ghost of the Christian Lady! 

 I noticed then a large wooden crucifix was hanging from her neck.  I remember wondering - wasn’t the cross supposed to scare ghosts away, then why was this lady wearing one.  The gang moved away from the open door in their fright towards the back of the room to where the water bucket was.  Taking advantage of the confusion the Lady beckoned me towards her. I can’t explain why, but something in me told me that I could trust her.  Breaking out of my fright induced stupor I ran out of the door.

Seeing me escape the gang also regained their senses and rush out behind us screaming and screeching.  With that started perhaps the most horrific but absurd chase.  A lady ghost wearing a cross and surgeon frightened out his wits, followed by a gang of hideous old men armed with knives and clubs. “Maro, Bhagne na paye, Pakdo”, Kill, Don’t Let him escape, Catch him – the air ranted with their screams as I ran for my life.  Sure footed they were too.  Though we had almost a 2-3 minute head start, their knowledge of the terrain and the blood lust had some them catch up with us soon enough.   But all through the chase the lady demonstrated her other worldly powers as she would cause these people to slip and fall or put some obstacle in the path if they came too close causing them to shout out in anger.

There was a sudden chain of lightning flashes that lit of the area like day, clearly showing a sight that I can never forget.    In front of me was the Lady, who appeared to be floating in air, eyes fixed behind me at our chasers with two arms upraised as she made nature bow to her will. Leading me where I knew not.  Chasing undauntedly behind us brandishing their weapons was a gang of hideous men, their anger and blood thirst clearly visible as they ran, stumbled, and rolled behind us in the wet, slushy hilly training. Every time the Lady waved her hand making one of them fall they would get right up and jump back into the chase.

That’s when I realized that during this escape I hadn’t fallen down even once, while on my onward trip I wasn’t able to take two steps without slipping down. Was it the Lady who made this happen both times?

***

All of a sudden, it was all over.

I have no recollection how but I was inside the car shivering uncontrollably.  I tried starting the car and it magically responding immediately. Perhaps a final gift from my saviour. Without wasting a moment I zoomed away from the accursed place.  My control of my vehicle is legendary, and I used all the skills at my disposal to get away as fast as I could.

I never saw the Lady or the grotesque gang after that, but still I didn’t stop until I reached Sharmaji’s house at about 7.00 a.m.  Both Sharmaji and Aparajita had been up from 3.00 a.m. waiting for me, worry clearly visible in their faces as I pull up almost 4 hours late. I don’t know what they saw in my face but both of them rushed to my side as I came out of my car and without saying much led me to a deckchair which was placed in the veranda. While Sharmaji went into get someone to take my luggage inside and get me some team.  Aparajita remained by my side in a chair on my left. 

As I sat there mutely looking at her, for the first time ever, she took my left hand and held my palm between hers and said, “Whatever it is, don’t worry.  I am here.”  The tenderness in her voice and eyes drove away all residual fear that I still had.

I fell into a long, deep sleep.

I woke up at about noon.  I still was in the deck chair but a pillow had been placed under my head and a light bed sheet put on my body. Aparajita was still in the chair by my side, reading a book.  As I stirred, she gave her trade mark sunny smile, “Up?”  Much later, after a shower and lunch, I sat with her and Sharmaji and told them of my adventures. Sharmaji’s hand rose to his forehead and he chanted a short prayer of thanks to Lord Krishna.  Both Aparajita and I joined with folded hands. “Son, you are very fortunate. It was the blessed Sister Emily who saved you.”   He then proceeded to tell us the most incredible story.

***

The Blessed Life of Sister Emily

Emily Mary Bhattacharya was born to an English mother and Bengali father in Calcutta of 1900s. In a few years after her birth her mother took her away to London to be raised, while her father stayed back in Calcutta and remarried.  At London Emily excelled in her studies. Both she and her mother would visit Calcutta every winter for vacation when London became dreadfully cold and return back at the onset of spring.  Emily became one of the first graduates of Mathematics from King's College for Women at Strand and totally distinguished herself in her scholarship.  At a time when everyone expected her to find a suitable husband and get married, she shocked her family and friends by declaring to devote her life to Lord Jesus as a Nun.  Her father and step mother, who rushed to London and her mother all tried to dissuade   her but to no avail.  Soon she was Sister Emily, a novice of an Anglican religious order.

Her life as a nun in London, she found spiritually unsatisfying.  And once her mother had passed away, she decided to travel back to India to spread the Lord’s message.  She landed in Calcutta and spent a few months with her father, step mother and step brother and sister, who thoroughly adored her.  From there she proceeded to Shillong where the church apparatus was rapidly expanding and they needed teachers for the convent schools that were springing up.  The Church she belonged to had no problems finding her a position at a Convent where she joined as a senior teacher of Mathematics.  Her sweet nature and piety quickly made her a favorite with students and other teachers.  Even after schools she would spend long hours talking of Christ to both Christian and Hindu students.

And then one day she discovered Thakur RamakrishnaParamhansa. One of her Hindu students told the story of how Ramaskrishna had attained a vision of Lord Jesus. She of course knew who Ramakrishna was of course, since her father was a devotee and she had accompanied him to Dakshineswar a few times in her childhood, but she knew next to nothing about him, except that he had a famous disciple named Swami Vivekanada. The more she read about him, the more she became fascinated. She became frequent visitor to newly constructed Ramakrishna Mission at Laitumkhrah.  Ramakrishna she realized was a Christ-like spiritual giant who had lived and preached just about fifty years earlier. In Sarada she found the wisdom of a loving mother. And in the words of Vivekananda,  in her discussions with the monks with the Ramakrishna Mission on Vedanta and the Gospels, on Bhagavad Gita and Imitation of Christ, on Ma Kali and Lord Jesus, and finally on the universality of Lord Krishna the heavenly Father of us all, she finally found her answers to her spiritual quest. 

The more she understood about the Sanatana Dharma, the more her adoration of Jesus also increased.  Her discourses to her students and fellow teachers, to the parents of the students and visitors to her church became more engaging. She would draw not only from the life of Jesus and the Apostles, but from Mahabharata, from Gita, from Ramayana and from Ramakrishna. The crowd swelled.  While until her awakening her speeches were thinly disguised messages to encourage conversion, now they because truly the words of the Divine – The one creator who is our father.   

This continued for a couple of years.

Finally the church management woke up and took notice and decided that this “pagan nonsense” had no place at church and had to stop.  Sister Emily was called to a hearing and asked to repent for her sinful ways.  She left the meeting after a stunning speech of spirituality and its universality.  “Jotho mat Tatha path”, she told the dumb-founded audience before she left.

The Mother Superior of her convent came under tremendous pressure to have her thrown out. The Mother was a staunch Christian with no time for “Hindu beliefs” and “false Gods” but stood firmly behind Emily. She had heard what Emily had been preaching and could find no blasphemy. Nothing that Ramakrishna had preached was contrary to what Jesus himself had preached. Nor was Ramakrishna’s love for his Mother, “Ma Kali”, any less intense that Lord Jesus’s love for His Father.  The other nuns were also equally firm in their support, for they loved Emily and believed in her piety and Love for Jesus.

The students and the parents came out to streets in Emily’s support, which, of course, the British Government of the time didn’t take kindly.  In Anglican Church circles in Shillong, Calcutta and London there were intense debates on the Hindufication of the Church. The Church of England issue a rare statement denouncing the “happenings in Shillong”.   It was around that time Emily decided to leave Shillong and go back to Calcutta for some time.  A few months back, her father had died and she wanted to get away from this all and spent some time with her brother and sister. She wanted to visit Dakshineswar Kali Mandir as well. She promised her tearful students, their families and fellow nuns that she would return soon.

But she never did.

On her way to Gauhati from where she was to take a train, her car met with an accident and she died. Some believe she was killed.

“What happens since can only be speculated,” Sharmaji continued. “A pious person like Sister Emily could have moved on to a heavenly abode anytime she would have wanted. Her soul was the purest and she truly was God’s own child. But in her infinite benevolence we believe that her spirit remained back in the area where her earthly body had met its demise to help anyone who was in danger.  You are not the only person she help Dr. Chatterji, she has helped scores of people over the years. That’s why I said you are fortunate that she appeared in front of your eyes.”

“The travelers on the road, particularly the truckers consider her to be their Guardian Angel.  In fact they have even built a shrine where she is worshiped. Make sure you stop on your way back and pay your respects.”

What of the gang that attacked me?

“They are unfortunate souls. During the closing years of British just before a vicreagal visit to Shillong by Linlithgow the local administrator rounded up all local beggers and lepers they could find and had them bundled out of the town and warned never to return. The townsfolk also supported this move.  These people established a colony somewhere along the road and would terrorize wayfarers. With passage of time most of these people had perished, the ones you unfortunately met must have been the last remaining ones. They were blood thirsty lot. They would not only rob and kill their victims. Some believed that they practices cannibalism too.  Govt. of Assam had made a few attempts to catch them, but the way they hid themselves their colony had never been found. In you they must have seen a feast.”

“Sister Emily must have known you were in danger, so she was with you all the way to protect you.” 

While are father looked the other way for some reason, Aparajita briefly put her hand on mine. I turned to look at her and saw her smile at me with tears in her eyes.

***

Imly Mai Ki Mod

On my way back I stopped at Sister Emily’s shrine at Imly Mai Ki Mod. Imly means Tamarind in Hindi, and many people wrogly assume that Imly Mod (Tamarind Turn) has something to do with a Tamarind tree, while what it really means is the Turn of Mother Emily.

The shrine was a typical miniature roadside temple that you will find all over India. The presiding deity of the temple was Ma Kali in the Raksha Kali form, a form that Protects. Curiously the temple also had a Cross, a Picture of Mother Mary and Infant Jesus. Also worshipped in the temple was a faded black and white picture of a Lady.  As I peered closely I could clearly make out her features.  It was Sister Emily, the Lady of Barapani Lake who had saved my life that fateful night.

In the months and years to come, I have made numerous trip through that road, but never again did I ever get to see Sister Emily. But it is also true that there hasn’t been a single time that I didn’t stop and bow down at Sister Emily’s shrine.

The tides of time, landslides, road widening and finally loss of recollection has contributed to the fact at some time in the late nineties the shrine disappeared. Today a road runs through the very place where her shine used to be taking thousands upon thousands of travelers to and fro who are unware of Sister Emily’s benevolence. 

But there are still a few old truckers who remember Sister Emily, and also a few like me, my Aparajita and our children, whose hands never fail to touch ever our foreheads whenever we pass through Imly Mai ki Mod.

The Lady of Lake Barapani

I remember this as if this happened just yesterday. Not many remember an incident that occurred such a long time ago. The minor flutter that it had created in the local media at that time has long receded from popular memory. But I was thick in the middle of it and feel that this truly is a story that needs to be told lest it be forgotten.

It is not often that one actually comes face to face with what can only be called a Ghost, stare at sure death or experience mind numbing fear that changes ones world view. Such a tale must be told if only for us to realize that there are still things for which we have no rational explanations.

But along with all that this is also heart-warming story of unity of different faiths that bears to be recounted and remembered.

The year was 1974, the Sankirtan movement of Lord Chaitanya had all but died in Shillong. Gone were the days when Bengalis and Kashis alike swayed in the divine beat of the Mahamantra as the Sankirtan processions swept through the beautiful lanes of this hill paradise. The refrain of Hari Bol that could once be heard everywhere in Shillong of my boyhood had been all but silenced.  The steady stream of money that flowed from the West, the strategic marketing of an all forgiving Saviour had turned many Khasis towards a new belief system, away from the simple path of Bhakti that only promised Krishna-Prem or Love of Krishna as the means and end. 

We were a motley bunch of 30-something self-proclaimed and wannabe intellectuals who were still holding out against what we could recognize as the turning of an innocent populace from the way of Bhakti to the way of plain material barter with Divine. As a group of Professors, Doctors, and small business owners we were committed continuing to chant Krishna's name with the firm belief that sooner or later the nectar filled name of Krishna (Madhumay Krishna Naam) would draw back all true seekers.

Those days I was a young Surgeon at the Shillong Civil Hospital. The state of Meghalaya had just been formed and since many of the senior doctors had chosen to move to Gauhati (that's how it was spelled those days), we were left in charge. I was the HOD of my dept. with all my residents being fresh graduate doctors. The hours were long, our duty cycles almost back-breaking but we took our charge as a command from the Lord. Was it not Swami Vivekananda who had said - Jive Prem Kore Jai Jon, Shai sabache Iswar - “It is verily he who has served Mankind, who has truly served the Divine.”

Before long the peddling of the Saviour had turned its attention to Assam. In front of every temple or Naam Ghar, overnight would mushroom a House of Healing or an Altar of My Lady of Unfathomable Grace. We took it upon us to frequent the Naamghars that were within our reach, on every possible occasion, in a bid to either promote or in some cases even restart the Kirtans. Such participation in the Kirtans for most of us would require a drive down from Shillong to the plains of Assam.

My encounter with The Lady of Lake Barapani happened during one of these trips.

***

It was late one August evening that I finished my last operation for the night. Since I was off-duty the next day I had promised to drop by to a Naamghar which was managed by the father of one of my erstwhile seniors.

Prabhu Achinta Kumar Sharma came from a long line of Shankardev Vaishnavites. After retiring from the Railways he had taken over the management of the Village Naamghar. He was a widely respected person and within the first hour of my first meeting I became a fan. What touched me was his devotion, knowledge, humility and sense of humour that comes so easily to the people of Assam. In his village too, lately people proclaiming Good News had started their foray.  We had re-doubled the effort from our side in ensuring that Naamghar remained a beacon of hope for all seekers.  Prabhu somehow had developed a tremendous fatherly affection for me and often would ask his son to send me for the Kirtans.

Today was one such occasion.

As I started my trusty Ambassador it was almost 10.30 at night.  A light drizzle had started. Still I expected to make good time and reach Gauhati in about 5 hours give or take. (It takes much less time these days).  I was famished but decided that rather than stopping for dinner at the hospital canteen, I would grab something at Nongpoh from some still-open eatery.  

By the time I reached the outskirts of Shillong the rain had become rather heavy.  For a moment I did contemplate whether I should turn back but continued onwards since few things were more rejuvenating and life affirming as a Kirtan session with Prabhu and his disciples. Since I had lost my father a few years back, I also craved the paternal affection that I received from him.  Of course there was Aparajita, his youngest daughter who had just completed her MSc in Botany. With her my budding friendship held the promise of something more in a not too distant a future.

At Mawlai the rain turned torrential, slowing me down to a Snail's pace. My car loudly protested the frequent braking and moving that I was forced to resort to. By the time I reached in the vicinity of the Umsaw Madan area near the Barapani Lake, my trusty Ambassador, a friend of so many journeys, sputtered to a complete uncharacteristic and unexpected stop.  Much as I tried I couldn't get the engine to restart. 

I was stranded in the middle of nowhere in a dark rainy night!

I quickly took a stock of my surroundings.  It was pitch dark everywhere outside broken occasionally by the flashes of lightning and the sound of thunder that inevitably followed.  There was not a single vehicle on the road from what I could see. The Barapani Lake which is normally a source of pleasure due to its beauty stretched on one side of the road like an ominous expanse of unknown dread. Its dark waters looked angry and agitated by the torrents of water that fell from the heavens. Everything else was just black. No moon, no stars, no people. I was alone submerged in an ocean of darkness, with my headlights making a feeble attempt stay lit.

Before long I too switched off my headlights to conserve my car battery.  The rain pounded heavily on my car roof making the sound like someone was incessantly beating a drum, while I sat kicking myself for having left Shillong in such an inclement weather.

It was about then that I saw her first.  For some reason my eye had strayed to my rear view mirror during the flash of a lightning.  On my back seat was sitting a lady with wearing a white sari and some kind of white head gear.  With complete deadpan eyes she was staring back right into my eyes through the mirror. My heart froze at the suddenness of her appearance. In the dying light of the lightning flash I looked back at the mirror to see that she was still staring at me. Without blinking.

I gathered by courage to turn on the cabin light overhead and looked back.

There was no one in the back seat.

I chuckled softly  to myself at how situations could even make doctors see things. As I mused on the workings of the brain and its relation to the elusive entity called Mind, I saw her again.  Another lightning flash. No mistaking this time, there was someone else in the car.  And she was staring at me like there is no tomorrow.  There was an unspoken message in that cold hard stare that I couldn't read.

I switched on the cabin light again. Again no one. I even peeped behind my seat to see if she had ducked. But no, there was no one in the car that I could see.  Though the weather had gotten quite chilly, I was literally sweating by then.

Without another minute's thought, I rushed outside into the torrential rains. I locked the car and started walking back fast towards Shillong.  In a few steps one of my shoe laces came undone.  As I bent down to tie it, my spine chilled when I realized the same entity who was with me in the car was standing right behind me!

***

I broke into a mad run on the dark road, unmindful of what I went. The only thought in my mind was that I had to get rid of the entity that was following me.  As I ran for dear life I could hear the foot falls of the entity as it kept pace behind me.  This went on for about 10-15 mins, though at that time it seemed like an eternity.  Finally I had to stop out of sheer exhaustion. I didn't know which way I had run or where my car was.  The ground was slushy under my feet so I definitely was not on the highway anymore and neither was the lake visible in my immediate vicinity.

Just then I saw what could be my salvation.  A dim flickering dot of a light at far distance at some height on a hillock. Never before had I have such a feeling relief. If only I could reach there I would be back in company of humans.

I knew not what lay in between me and that dot of light but I cared not. I leaped headlong toward that.  No sooner had I done so, I felt a wave of anger flowing at me from the entity behind.  Heaven's my witness but the roar of the thunder got louder, every two step I would slip and fall headlong into the slush, the trees around me were swaying wildly.  I could swear that there were hands trying to retrain me from moving ahead.

Suddenly it clicked to me, the famous lines from Hanuman Chalisa -

bhūta pishācha nikata nahi āvai।

mahābīra jaba nāma sunāvai॥

Evil spirits (bhūta) and meat-eating ghosts (pishācha) do not come near those chant the Mahāvira name of yours.

With every bit of piety I could summon in my state of utter terror I started chanting the hymn loudly. Lo and Behold, I actually felt the entity fall behind me.  I could still hear the swaying of trees and the noises but my progress towards the light was unhindered.

By now my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could make some sense of where I was going.

Before soon I came up a small clearing on which stood a small hut from whence the light emanated. As I neared the hut I could almost hear a wail of frustration all around me but still at some distance. My reverential prayers to Lord Hanuman, hadn’t left my lips even for a moment.

Desperately I went up and frantically knocked on the door of the hut…

(To be contd....)

Unfake Life

The biggest disservice that you can do to yourself is being a fake.

About 5000 years back there was a King in ancient India by the name of Paundraka who has convinced himself and some of his followers that he and not Vasudeva Krishna, was the real manifestation of the Supreme. Encouraged by foolish followers, he not only styled himself after Krishna, but apparently sent a messenger  with seriously insulting messages for Lord Krishna. When Krishna came after him instead of taking shelter in the Lord's infinite Mercy, the dullard attacked Him.  Of course, he lost his head in the bargain.  Being a fake didn't turn out a good thing for him after all.





An Unfake Life is the biggest gift you can give yourself for such a life is devoid of any foundational falsehoods. Indeed such a life and outlook becomes the very basis of any progress, material or spiritual that you may want to make in life.

The three principles for an UNFAKE LIFE  are the following:

1. Be Genuine. Acceptance of ones own-self, weakness, warts and all is the first step towards improvement, towards progress.  
2. Unfake. If you catch yourself faking, just stop. Faking doesn't fool anyone else, it fools only yourself and that is never a good thing.
3. Strive. If you want to attain something, liberation, a position, a skill, respect or trust, you have to strive to be really worthy of it and work at achieving it. This can happen only if you have applied the first two principles. Only if you accept your station today, would you be able to chart the path to where you want to go to and make the journey.

Accept that you are mostly likely your biggest challenge. The second are people who love you, because in their affection, they see you as something bigger.  The third of course are people who have some axe to grind and fuel the illusion that you create around yourself.

Of course in your path to an UNFAKE LIFE,sometimes you will be misunderstood, questioned, made fun of. And while sometimes it may hurt you but if you keep true to the three principles provided above, you will emerge stronger.

Jai Shri Krishna.

See Also:
Krishna and the false Vasudeva:  http://krsnabook.com/ch66.html 

Om Sarashwatyai Namah -- Celebration of Ma Saraswati - The Giver of Knowlege

Knowledge or Wisdom, when the ancient seers of India envisioned her, appeared as a gushing, flow of live giving water, sometimes gurgling along as a gentle stream, sometimes thunderously rushing past breaking all barriers and obstacles. Forever mobile and changing. No doubt therefore Goddess of Knowledge was named after the most important river in the history of Indian history - The Saraswati, the cradle of Indian Civilization. 

Ma Sarasawati is the Goddess of Knowledge and Arts. Today is Saraswati Puja, the celebration and the special day of worship of the Ma Saraswati.

My association with Ma Saraswati has been from childhood through the Saraswati Puja which is a significant festival for the Bengalis like the rest of India. As kids my brother and I would run to Mom with our books, so that she could place them in front of the Divine Mother for some special grace to help with our studies.  Subjects that were specially hard to me such as trigonometry  or civics found special position in the Puja, because I was convinced that I could get through them only through the Mother's grace and blessings.  There also used to be the locality pujas which were organized mainly by older children under the watchful eyes of the grown ups. 

In our young Minds, Ma Saraswati, was this benevolent deity whose propitiation was necessary to do good in studies and pass exams. So with all the respect we could muster and with eyes firmly shut in apparent bhakti, all of us kids would try to outshout each other as we chanted her mantras, for who knows what amazing blessings were in store if you could just manage to get ourselves heard.  The most common mantra we chanted was this one:

सरस्वति महाभागे विद्ये कमललोचने ।
विद्यारूपे विशालाक्षि विद्यां देहि नमोस्तुते ॥

Meaning:
1: O Devi Saraswati, the most Auspicious Goddess of Knowledge with Lotus-like Eyes,
2: An Embodiment of Knowledge with Large Eyes, Kindly Bless me with Knowledge. I Salute you.

(Taken from this page)

Of course in reality, what Ma Saraswati represents is a knowledge that is far deeper. It the knowledge of the Self, a concept that forms the core of Indian philosophy.  The meaning of world, universe, multi-verse, life itself or whatever else that is perceived or is beyond is not be sough without, but within, either in terms of the relation between the Self and the Super-self or as an identification of the Self with the Super-self, depending upon the school of philosophy that you choose to follow. Ma Saraswati is therefore the giver of divine knowledge or I would argue the only knowledge for which the soul takes the human birth. She therefore is the patron of all Gyan yogis everywhere. For isn't it Knowledge, especially Brahma Gyan, in which resides our Salvation, our enlightenment and redemption?  I dare say, it does.  The name Sarawati itself pays homage to the Ma Saraswati's role in imparting knowledge of Self to her children.  In my own personal journey today Ma Saraswati is my refuge, my inspiration, my guide.

I am amazed at the genius of our ancient thinkers and rishis who could take such a subtle concept, and impart it a persona which could bring it within the grasp of the laity like us.

Today, as my son sang the hymn - Sri Vani  Kalyani during a special prayer of Ma Sarawati, I was also reminded that my Father, the great classical singer that he was, prayed to Ma as a Goddess of the arts as well. Swami Vivekanda invoked her before his famous speech in parliament of religions. Ma Saraswati has inspired numerous  creation of arts, as music, sculpture, paintings, verses and prose. One of my favourites is a piece created by the Japanese composer Kitaro..  I leave you with the melodious strains of the superb creation that must have been graced by Ma Saraswati's blessings to have come out so nicely.

Om Sarashwatyai Namah

See Also:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saraswati

http://hinduism.about.com/od/hindugoddesses/p/saraswati.htm

Yearning, thy name is Radha

The historicity of Lord Krishna is a subject of active mainstream scholarship. That an amazing, unparalleled, magical being once walked on this earth a little over 5000 years ago, that there was in our midst an divine person who changed and directed the course of history and philosophy in his time and has inspired humanity as no one ever has since his advent  is no longer a question or matter that is doubt. The current human endeavour seems to be directed towards understanding and knowing this Supreme Hari better and finding his presence through scientific as well as spiritual means. Please see the reference section for a few excellent links on this topic.

However a question is that is sometimes asked is who is Radha, Krishna's eternal consort. Who is this devotee numero uno, only by whose graces may the Lord be attained. While the purans seem to attest Lady Satyabhama and Lady Rulmini as the principal wives of Lord Krishna, beyond his divine pasttime in the enchanted Vrindavan, why is it that Sri Radha, who the Lord is always pictured with in modern iconography, never mentioned?

Sri Radha, I believe is more than just one historical person who existed. She has become the personification of the yearning for the Lord that resides in heart and consciousness  of the devotee. As a historical person one may yet discover her in the magical forests of Vrindaban and one hopes that such a day dawns soon. But there is no doubt that a true devotee can feel her blessed presence in their hearts lighting up the path of para bhakti. She appears as guide, as a friend, as a mother who takes her children by their hands and guides them to their eternal destination - The Lotus feet of Lord Krishna, She is that cocoon of light and warmth that envelops the devotee in a motherly embrace when he looses his consciousness and identity into the infinite-ness of Hari naam, of Krishna naam.

But, most importantly and most often, she appears as a boundless yearning for Krishna, that sometimes breaches the embankments of the eye lids and flow out as streams of tears.

Recently an animated movie depicted the Radha bhava or Radha conciousness in a beautiful way. It showed the Lord as a child enchanting the whole of Vrindaban in his divine flute play, but when the music stopped it was only Radha who kept swaying as if to the tune of some unheard music. The Krishna music that she was dancing to came not from without, but from within which manifests as an unceasing stream of melody.  That truly is Radha's love and Radha's devotion.

No doubt Radha's name preceeds Krishna's when they are remembered together. It is always Radha-Krishna, Radha-Madhava, for Radha is indeed the true yearning for Krishna that leads a devotee to him.

Radhe, Radhe,

References:

http://decodehindumythology.blogspot.in/2012/02/krishna-history-behind.html
http://www.indianweekender.co.nz/Pages/ArticleDetails/51/1421/Comment/How-science-discovered-the-historical-Krishna
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dalNJ4luBws

Visionaries

Why is it that there are a few leaders who are able to galvanize and rally people for a greater cause, when many others who would have this moniker applied to them merely end up being pushy individuals that you would normally want to avoid.

The answer is in the simple word -- Vision.

Vision is a highly abused word, and it is thrown around in most humorous ways by people. The situation that I find most funny is when some clueless set of people sit around in board rooms to arrive some futuristic vision for an organization.  Each of the participant will typically say something heavy sounding about a future point in time, sometimes simply because they want to make their presence felt or because their boss is in the room as well. Sticky notes will be used in wild abandon, while boards messed up with an universe of unreadable doodles. Finally the fearless leader in the room shall stitch together a convoluted sentence using words from various sentence and voilà - A vision is ready. 

Something oozing with creative juices. Such as:

We are the best jacket makers, encouraging innovation and ensuring humane killing of animals whose hide we use, through six sigma quality processes , so that citizens of Timbaktoo feel impelled to buy these apprehending a global cooling at some distant time in future.

OR

We exist to leverage the synergies between the watch manufactures in North Antarctica and the igloo heating needs of Eskimos of the Arctic, while exhibiting our deeply felt social responsibility towards the bushmen of Kalahari by ensuring an constant supply of soda bottles to the inner reaches, through cost effective solar powered non polluting vehicles drawn by the penguins of Antarctica desirous to explore the new educational vistas that would be rendered open to them.

The reason that these Vision Statements don't work is because they mean nothing, paint no picture in front of our eyes. They are pasted in the walls of Corporates to be ignored until the next version of equally inane vision statements take their place to be ignore with equal gusto.

Recently I have been in a set of meetings that have been completely different. It started with a offsite at a nearby town for a couple of days and before long the entire group who were in the offsite were buzzing with excitement and activity.  It has been over a month since that and the excitement continues to grow and spread across to the entire org...

So what was different..

The difference was how our leader galvanized the whole team by painting a vision of future that we could connect to, at the very inception. Telling a story that was challenging but realistic. Something that would need an entire organization to rise together, move through a  trajectory to reach a promised future. A future that we could see and were excited about.  That was the secret sauce.

As I thought through this whole thing I released that this approach had worked for me in the past as well, Every time I was able to paint a vision of what the shape of future would be and provide a way to get there I was able to infuse energy into my team or my customers.  When people are excited by the vision of a future and see a way to get to it, they work like supermen to make that a reality.

No one perhaps realized this better than Lord Krishna. If you analyze Mahabharata purely from a management and leadership perspective it is clear that it is the victory of a Vision of righteousness painted by the Lord against a utter lack of that in the side of Kauravas. This vision made the Pandava army perform like super warrior and vanquish a much larger army of Kauravas. Lord Krishna no doubt was the biggest visionary that ever set foot of earth but then he is "Bhagavan Himself". Every step of his life as documented and known to us shows Vision and purpose to uplift and free mankind. 

Netaji Subhash Bose is another person in recent history who led with Vision and captured India and the world's imagination . Jamshedji Tata, Bill and Dave and many others have similarly been visionaries, the path set by whom still act as a inspiration to many.

So...  As a leader if you ever get to a situation where you see confused expression in the faces of your people, a reluctance to follow you, Ask yourselves the following questions..

• Do I know whether I want to lead my people?  Is it a destination that is worthy?
• Do they understand the vision? Does it paint a picture for them when the close their eyes?
• Can I show them a map of getting there that they would believe?
• Are they inspired at the thought of this journey

If the answer of even a single question is a NO, your vision is still not a mature one and home work is in order.  If all answers are YES but you still have confused looks it is likely that you would need to communicate better..

However, if you are lucky to reach a point where your team resonates with with picture you paint for them, give yourself a light pat on back, you could have well be on your way to becoming a visionary...