Sometimes, the divine is more scarier than the evil.
I grew up in a rural village with a population of over 130 residents. Our village is agriculture centric with plenty of rice fields. Most of us are farmers who worked in the field all day long. Basically our village consisted of several thatched roof houses that had cow sheds on the courtyard. Dairy farming was also one of our livelihood. Goats and cows roamed in the fields all day. My father owned an acre of rice farm and we had around seven cows that produced litres of milk. Every morning at 4:30, my father would start milking the cows and be done with it by 6am. He would then set off on his moped with two big tin containers of milk to sell it in the town market which was roughly 20 Kms away from our village. This was repeated again in the evening. We had a few labourers to look after the work in the field as well.
The village school was where I spent most of my time. I aspired to become very successful in life and move to a city as was the dream of every kid in the village. But I knew that for ambitions to become real, one had to work hard. And today my efforts have paid off. I live in a cosmopolitan city and I work as a civil engineer in a construction company.
One important thing I have to mention about my village is the Devi temple. Legend has it that Devi, the Goddess, is the guardian of our village who manifested herself generations ago to protect the village from an evil spirit that brought misery to its residents. The story has been passed over from my ancestors. It goes like this, children of the village were dying under mysterious circumstances. First it was shoved away as an unfortunate event. But then more children began to die of fever and strangely the young cattle, calves and kids began to die too. No one knew what was the cause of this fever that would not abate to any local medicines. Then the wells started drying up and the crops began to wither. The village heads, on consulting the local astrologer, found out that an evil spirit had found refuge in the village and was causing the people to suffer anguish.
This went on for sometime and no amount of rituals and prayers by the villagers helped improve the situation. One day, a saint who was on a pilgrimage stopped by the village to rest. When the villagers came running to him and asked for solace, the saint who was moved by their request, invoked the aid of the Almighty and mediated. He recited various hyms and mantras for days. He ate no food nor drank a drop of water. It seems that he meditated from a full moon day to a no moon day, a fortnight. When he opened his eyes on the 14th day, the villagers anxiously waited for his response. He requested the villagers to search the nearby forest for the biggest boulder they could find and bring it back to the village. By afternoon, a few men transported a 5 foot boulder the size of two men combined. The saint asked it to be placed in the centre of a barren field. He advised the villagers that a guardian would come to save them all. He laid down a few conditions as well. Starting the same day, every no moon day after 8pm, when the sun has completely set, no one will dare step outside from their houses. Every resident regardless of age had to lock themselves inside their house, no travelling, no peeking from windows, nothing until the crack of dawn. The villagers readily agreed and asked for the saint's blessings.
That same day, after sunset, the last thing the villagers saw was the saint meditating near the boulder that was set up on the field. He had marked it with yellow turmeric powder. All the villagers had tucked themselves in their houses before 8. Back in those days, there was no electricity and all the lamps had been doused. A blanket of darkness spread across the village. All of a sudden, from nowhere there was lightning and thunder, a huge storm picked up and howled over the village making a shrill noise. It went on for a while, then everything became dead silent. The cattle, or what was left of them became restless and made noises. Still no one dared to step outside. Then they heard it. Footsteps. Someone walking, it was that of a female as the footsteps were accompanied by jingles of small bells. As if someone was wearing anklets on their heels. Frightened yet amazed the villagers prayed for change. The next day, they were in for a huge surprise.
The saint was nowhere to be seen, a huge crack was found on the boulder. On further examination, the loose parts of the boulder cracked up to reveal a figurine. It was a female form. Convinced that it was the act of a supreme force, people were overjoyed. The lightning that had struck on the boulder was a deliberate act from God himself. A sculptor was called who carved a beautiful statue out of it and a sanctum sanctorum was built around it. Thus, the shrine of Devi came into being.
It rained continuously for days, filling up all the wells. New crops grew and thankfully, the mysterious deaths ceased. Even today, on no moon day, the rule is followed. It has been passed over from the previous generations. It is the day, the Goddess herself appears and walks around the village warding off evil spirits. Anyone who refused to stay in and wandered off would only invite her wrath.
One could ask why should we be afraid of a good force. Why fear God? But in various hindu scriptures, if you see, you will realize that a lot of Gods and Goddesses are ferocious in nature and they take an avatar of extreme fierceness to overpower evil which in nature is again vicious. The God is then calmed down and brought to a state of tranquility through various rituals and prayers performed by holy men.
I myself have heard footsteps accompanied with the sound of small bells. I would be dead scared, at the same time a sense of security would fall over me. But till date I am unable to figure out, whether this whole footstep sound is psychological. I basically grew up with the story. For all you know, it might be the sound of the bells tied on the necks of the cattle. But I never wanted to question it. I never wanted to be the idiot rebel and I respected the holy traditions of my village. Various rumours have been cooked up over the ages. That people who have disobeyed and stepped out have only met death on facing the Goddess. In fact, my grandfather, who passed away once told me about his friend who got drunk on one no moon day and purposely wandered off to check for himself if the whole story was true. The next day they found his body by the river bank. There were no eyes in the socket. No blood, no gore. Can you imagine, no eyes in the socket, just hollow space. I have no proof to validate the stories. They might have been fabricated to scare the youngsters of the village.
Coming to the main part of the story, when I was fifteen, I had my cousin visit us from the city. Schools were closed for vacation and my cousin who was the same age as mine came to live the village life. Unlike his parents who were well mannered, he was a brat. He was spoilt to the core and the village was his playground as city life restrictions were invalid here. He would pull the tails of cows, make mud pies and throw them in the well, steal eggs from the coops, pelt stones at chickens and act like a good boy in front of his parents. He would make fun of my dressing style and show off in front of my friends. He always argued and sought importance in any game we played and would keep hitting the younger kids. Me, being shy, I was powerless and moreover as a child, you are taught to give importance to guests. But Sharan, my cousin was uncontrollable. I usually stood there watching how can a human be so restless.
Sharan knew well of the village tradition. He would listen in amazement to the story of Devi and repeatedly keep asking questions of How and Why. He would visit the temple and ask the priest for his version of the story. He would scare little kids, pretending to be the Goddess himself and run after them. Then came the day. The day that changed everything. It was a No Moon day and my parents along with Sharan's had to go to the nearby city for a wedding. They weren't supposed to be back until the next day. I never had the slightest idea of what Sharan was planning to do. To me it was another normal day as I was so used to the tradition. I mean how difficult is it to stay indoors after eight for one night? But destiny had other plans. My parents left, casually asking me to secure the doors before eight. Since this was a regular practice, no one made a big deal out of it. But Sharan was hiding his excitement. I failed to recognize that. I was alone with Sharan and dinner was long over, we were preparing to go to bed.
That night, at around quarter to eight, I had locked all doors and I could see houses turning off their lights as I was about to shut windows. The curfew had been set. As I was about to switch off lights, Sharan stood there with a huge grin, his hands akimbo. The minute I turned off the lights, everything became dark. Then I heard Sharan say, "Do you know what I am going to do now?". With a sense of panic, I feared I was about to hear the worst. "I am going to investigate! I am Sherlock Holmes and you shall be Dr. Watson. Let's go and see if the story of Devi is true". I refused. I told him calmly that to disrespect the tradition is to disrespect the Goddess herself and asked him to be wise. Sharan scoffed at me and said that I was immature and silly. "Do you know why they made up this story? So that the elders can go out, gamble and get drunk without their wives knowing. Don't be so naive, you are such a simpleton". I could feel my heart thumping, I realised Sharan was not joking about going outside and I was convinced he would do it. I swallowed my pride and begged him not to go. That was when I realised, deep inside, I somehow believed the legend. I believed in the Goddess. I believed she actually walked around the village guarding it. However irrational it might sound, I believed in it.
It was dark and my eyes were adjusting to the environment around me. I could see Sharan standing near the door reaching for the locks. I heard him open the latch. I was paralysed with fear. My head went heavy and I could not move. I heard myself whispering in the quietness of the whole village, "Sharannnnn, Noooo". It was too late, I heard him giggle and he had already crossed the bamboo gate that lay in front of my house. I heard the gate swish and Sharan was gone.
Even today, I get goosebumps when I think of that moment, when I crumbled to the ground as I closed the door, my heart leaping off my chest, I could not comprehend what had just happened. Everything was fine, until Sharan made that decision. Why would he? It never occurred to me that he was this playful. I could have been extra careful if I had known. Numerous thoughts started to come to my head. I was scared something might happen to him, I was afraid that the tradition was broken. What would happen now? What would my parents say? what answer would I give to Sharan's parents. Not knowing the answers to these questions raised my fears and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek. Then one more. Before I knew I was sobbing. Then I prayed. I prayed to Devi. I prayed for forgiveness. I prayed for mercy. If there was something called praying your heart out, this was it. Never had I wanted something so much in life. I prayed repeatedly for his safety and mercy chanting a mantra that was meant for the Goddess.
When I woke up, I realised that there was daylight around me. It took me only seconds to hit reality. I immediately looked around, I had lay asleep on the floor near the door, covered in a blanket. On the cot was Sharan, fast asleep. The joy I felt inside could not be expressed. I woke him up immediately. He looked at me and first turned to the other side to sleep. But then woke up with a start. He started laughing. He called me a fool, followed by some names. He now stood up on the cot and started to jump wrapping the blanket around him. "You villagers are fools. Dumb nitwits. Devi it seems. I saw nothing yesterday. You and your fake Goddess. You have been living a lie. I can't believe you people still heed to such superstitions". I felt infuriated because he had insulted something I believed in. I kept quiet. I warned him that I would tell the parents about what he did. Suddenly Sharan started shaking all over. "Boo, yessss, I am sooo scareddd now.... Brrrr". He laughed like a donkey braying.
That same day, he was off roaming in the village. He teased me immensely. It got very irritating. "Someone is a scaredy cat, someone is a pussy cat". He would imitate in a female voice, "Boooo, I am Devi, worship me now, you stupid slaves". When my parents returned, I did not breathe a word about this. To be honest, I was scared of the consequences I had to deal with if they ever came to know. Sharan would mellow down and glance at me, I think he was a little afraid of the fact that I would complain. Maybe he felt that in the presence of his parents.
The next day, the trio left. Sharan hit me hard on the back and laughed as if he had achieved something great. I was just happy he was leaving. They bid goodbye and left early in the morning by bus. Two days later, we received a bad news. It jolted my whole body. Sharan had encountered a bad accident. He was on his way to the market on his father's motorcycle. He got involved in a head on head collision with a lorry on the highway. The news was so terrible. I heard my father sobbing uncontrollably as he was relaying the news to us. The one sentence that he said, still lingers in my mind, "They had to scrape his body pieces off the highway".
Even today, no one apart from me knows what happened that night. I never told anyone, never had the guts to do so. I refuse to find a connection between the incident and his death, but again every cell in my body wants to believe in punishment. But why so harsh? Sometimes, I think what kind of a person would have Sharan grown up to become? I remember the words of my grandfather. "Nothing is hidden from her, she is the protector, she is the guardian, she knows your future, she knows your past, disrespecting her will only bring doom upon you".
I don't know what to believe and what not to. I moved out from my village one year after the incident to join high school in the city. From there I moved to another city and I've been hopping ever since. I still visit my village, my parents live there. The tradition is still on. People still claim they hear footsteps on No Moon nights, slow footsteps with the sound of bells. She guards her village and somewhere deep inside, I believe that.
No comments:
Post a Comment