‘Sanatan’ a most common name among people of India and specially in Bengal. ‘Sanatan’ actually means – ancient.
Poor Sanatan got married last week mysteriously. Marriage is not usually that surprising, a known mystery goes around ‘birth, marriage, and death, Bidhata’s (God’s) discretion’. Sanatan’s marriage was a mystery because, one evening last week his father had asked him – get ready, tomorrow we are going to avail a morning train to reach a place 200 km away, and that’s for your marriage. Poor Sanatan, a self-style spiritualist. Had his own conviction that marriage, not only that impossible for the penury but hindrances to spiritual progress too. Despite day long hard work, he used to practice meditation on his own concept of dhyana. Sanatan works in a factory and the pay was immensely poor, to be exact, 6$ a month (as was the conversion rate @ $1: Rs.50 that time). Who dares to marry in such hardship? But mystery always prevails. Birth is a mystery, living life is a mystery, death is a mystery, even life after is a mystery. A couple of months before, when his father had raised the marriage topic, despite all his arguments, his father told – you are a sensible son, you must feel your octogenarian mother’s pain, she needs a helping hand moreover, a company. Finally, Sanatan had said disapprovingly – do whatever you think, I have no say in this regard.
Shamefaced Sanatan returned home with just married bride Savitri, availing passenger train and next, a paddling rickshaw from the railway station to their residence. But to add fuel the flame, in the evening, close friends and young relatives insisted on for the honeymoon trip. But honeymoon trip means plenty of money, moreover, courage and confidence, which Sanatan lacks, so long he’s alone, no eventuality matters, but with the married woman, it’s a can of worries… Sanatan protested strongly, though at the back of his dutiful mind, the desire for going out for honeymoon, for the sake of Savitri’s satisfaction…but money, arrangements…
As if a mind reader, one of his school days friends Nayan, came forward and declared – look, like to join us? We three, Nagen, Natobar and I, with wives, leaving tomorrow for Puri. Sanatan frowned, train ticket reservation, hotel booking…Nayan said – we booked three rooms in a bank’s holiday home which have four rooms altogether and I know that one room is still vacant, reaching Puri we can make spot booking of that room for you two. Sanatan, still doubtful, said, but train ticket reservation? Nayan said – look, we have six reserved births, we will try our best to persuade the TTE for allotting at least one extra birth for some extra cash. And, if we can’t make it then, we will accommodate you two somehow in our six births. It’s just a matter of overnight journey. Now say, like to join?
Coming out from the Puri railway station, and while their rickshaw was slowly passing by the long stretch of the white beach and viewing the blue ocean so close by, the first thing appeared in Sanatan’s mind – what a mystery… this must be God’s magical grace, unless how come I stepped out for a honeymoon and surprisingly reached Puri? But mystery is always a double-edged sword that pierce in joy and in anxiety, according to one’s turn of fate. Reaching the holiday home, they found the expected vacant room already booked. Submitting his wife Savitri to other wives of friends for change and refreshment, Sanatan and Nayan left immediately for arranging a room nearby. But there’s no room anywhere. Even high tariff hotel rooms were all booked. Almost three hours frantic search, when they were at the peak of their frustration, an old rickshaw puller hinted that he knows a private house let out rooms for a nominal charge. Sanatan and Nayan reached the place, in a narrow lane, an age old dilapidated three storied house, dark, damp and stinking. But the caretaker told them that all rooms already booked. On cordial and repeated request for arranging a room somehow, the caretaker said – only one small room on the roof top may be arranged when you are so badly in need of a room. But there’s no washroom, for that you are to use the ground floor washroom. Reaching rooftop and inspecting the said room, Nayan, then and there rejected the offer, but Sanatan accepted the room and said – something is always better than nothing. You see, it’s a matter of passing the night only. Booking the rooftop room and taking the key they returned to the holiday home completely exhausted.
Together they all spent the noon gossiping at holiday home rooms and before that, they had their lunch at nearby restaurant. In the afternoon they went to the sea beach and stayed there till evening. They had their dinner in a sea side dining hotel and finally, Nagen and Natobar and wives left for holiday home. Nayan accompanied Sanatan and Savitri up to the mouth of the narrow lane, said goodnight and left.
On their stepping to the pitch dark entrance of the dilapidated house, the caretaker said – no power, watch your steps, the staircase’s broken in many places. Sanatan, quickly fished out a small torchlight from the side pocket of his backpack which he always carries. Grabbing tightly Savitri’s hand, started climbed the staircase carefully and reached the rooftop room. Unlocking the padlock, he pushed open the broken door and beamed the torchlight inside for Savitri’s inspection. Savitri gasped at the first sight – oh my God, no bed, no wardrobe, no ceiling fan, nothing’s there except a broken bare single cot and a filled earthen water pot covering its mouth with a dirty aluminium glass. The unbearable hot and fungus like humid odour made the room impossible. But intelligent Savitri, with her female instinct, didn’t voice any dissatisfaction, just feel the surface of the bare cot and sit on it. Sanatan, struggling much, could able to open the tightly jammed old window and a flood of full moon light illumined the small room. Fresh outside air made the room temperature bearable and the bad smell almost gone. Savitri said politely – I need to change clothes and to go to washroom. puzzled Sanatan got anxious, the big suitcase like bag with all Sivitri’s clothes and belongings were lying with Nayan’s luggage at holiday home. Sanatan and Savitri had directly reached here from the sea beach and totally forgot to bring the big bag. Another problem, there’s no washroom on the roof top. Savitri judged the situation and said laughingly- take it easy. Come on, have some rest and sleep, I watched you didn’t sleep last night in the train. She undid her sari and folded to give comfort of a pillow to Sanatan and pulled him on the bare uneven cot. Sanatan too, learning the technique, made a pillow for Savitri by folding his trouser and sweaty shirt. And the eternal dual entity of Purusha and Prakriti, male and female in physical form, instinctively desire for, to minimize their existential entity by total submission, by pure love, in union, to be one and experiencing the highest joy of non-existent. They experienced the primitive love, without bed or sheet or ceiling fan and the rooftop room was then flooded with full moon lit as if a chariot floating high above, the opened window was giving a visual of the waves of the moonlit sea so nearby beneath.
Nayan knocked their rooftop room door violently, and ashamed they two hurriedly dressed up and headed for the holiday home.
Group of four couples came out of the holiday home quickly, already they were late by an hour from the schedule marked for today’s visiting sites and places. First place of visit was the Gambhira Ashram. Gambhira Ashram at Puri was famous for Chaitanyadev Mahaprabhu. In this ashram, some 500 years ago, Chaitanyadev spent his life during his stay at Puri. Main attraction here a paduka on display, the khadam (footwear, sleeper made from wood) used by Mahaprabhu. The story goes that Chaitanyadev’s second wife Vishnupriya, to give relief to Chaitanyadev from roaming in bare foot, made to order the khadam out of a Neem tree by cutting it from their garden at Nabadwip (now famous for ISKCON head quarter) and had sent the khadam to Puri for his use. Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu (1486 – 1534), a 15th century Indian saint born at Nabadwip, Bengal. He expounded Bhakti Yoga and popularised the chanting of the ‘Hare Krishna’ maha mantra, founder of Goudiya Vaishnavism, his contribution to the Oriental philosophical order - doctrine of ‘Achinta Bheda Abheda’. That is- relation of God to the world and souls in terms of Bheda and Abheda, simultaneous difference and non-difference, or oneness, intimate loving relationship with God’ was his message (Wikipedia).
At the main entrance of the ashram, there was already a huge pool of visitors pushing each other for entry. Sanatan’s group joined the crowd and within a few minutes Sanatan found himself detached from his group, but could see at some distance Savitri, clutching Nayan’s wife tightly struggling for entering the ashram. To avoid the rush Sanatan was searching for a different way to get in, and looking at the ashram’s partly broken boundary wall on the left, saw through a ruined household over the big, abandoned patio, mostly covered in bushes. On a plea to discovering a short cut to enter the ashram through the back door, Sanatan climbed a little for crossing over the broken wall and stepped on through grass and bushes for reaching the patio. Suddenly, Sanatan saw a young sanyasi come out from the ruined house and approaching towards him with a strange kind of smiling looks that gives instant sublime peace. The very bright complexion and heavenly appearance of the clean shaved sanyasi was radiating a glow of hallow from his body and he reached so close to Sanatan. Hypnotised Sanatan, could only say in folded hand – please allow me touching your feet. The sanyasi acknowledged smilingly. The moment Sanatan touched his feet, a jolt of strong current passed through Sanatan. Surprised but still in suspicion, Sanatan prayed for touching the feet again. And this time, velocity of more power packed current passed through Sanatan. What a mystery, but still Sanatan’s logical mind was not ready to accept it whole heartedly. Puzzled Sanatan, prayed for a third pranam with folded hand, and the radiating sanyasi allowed smiling amusingly. Once again, Sanatan was about to touch the mahatma’s feet for the third time, something hammered hard on Sanatan’s head. Bewildered with pain, Sanatan looked up and saw a very old frail body sanyasi next to the young sanyasi, a bamboo cane in hand about to hit Sanatan’s head again, and with very big angry eyes scolded the young sanyasi to go in immediately. And turning towards Sanatan said furiously – you stinking sperm smeared, get out from here or I will kill you. Spellbound Sanatan, may be his logical sense was still working a bit back in mind, said politely – Oh Mahatman, but every Gods have their Goddess wives? In a flash the bamboo stick slashed on Sanatan’s upper arm, he cried out in pain. But the frail aged sanyasi, finding Sanatan still standing, quickly picked up a heavy brickbat from the ground and said in enraged voice – you scum of a beast, arguing? This time sanatan, regained his common senses and started running as fast as he can without looking back, and his immediate reaction was to get mix up with the crowd at the entrance of the ashram to avoid identification, and reaching at the entrance, threw away his new shoe on top of heaves of footwear of visitors and forcefully entered the ashram pushing violently other visitors.
When his state of reeling head cooldown a little, started looking for Savitri and friends in the ashram’s different rooms. After some time, in the crowd he met Savitri’s anxious eyes and found his friends in the main room where the khadam of Mahabrabhu was on display. Nayan and others started asking enquiringly his reason of absence, but Sanatan didn’t tell them anything and just lied – I got lost in the crowd.
They all came out from the ashram and started collecting own shoes and chappals from the heaves of footwear. Everyone got their own shoes but Sanatan couldn’t find his despite thorough search by all of them. On bare foot he came out and while passing by the mysterious broken wall portion, glanced fearfully under cover of friends, but found the bush covered ruined house and its patio calm and totally deserted.
Next morning, submitting Savitri to other wives at holiday home, Sanatan left out without telling anybody, not even to Savitri, and started heading towards the Gambhira ashram. Entering through the broken wall portion, Sanatan, bit nervus, moving through the grassy patio towards the dark ruins, suddenly some chorus alarming voice from behind, asked him not to go in and to return immediately. Dumbfounded Sanatan returned back to them, four-five young ashramites were anxiously waiting at the gap of the broken wall portion for his return. They all started questioning Sanatan, why he was trying to go inside the ruined house, what’s the purpose…? That’s a terrible place with plenty of poisonous snakes, no body dares even to cross the broken boundary wall…
The desire he weaved last night remained unfulfilled, Frustrated Sanatan, told them the whole story that truly happened yesterday. They listened and laughed. To make them believe every inch of what happened, and as proof showed them his swollen upper arm with cut mark, but they didn’t believe, during their stay in this ashram for decades, never seen or heard such incident. Sarcastically they laughed and said – you are painting a mysterious happening out of cock and bull story.
Sanatan was coming out of the ashram disheartened, though mentally trying to co-relate the whole mystery. But a magic was waiting for him, an ashramite came running, reaching to him said raising the pair of his shoe – is it your lost shoe?
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BIO
I love roaming, travelling, cycling, trekking. I draw, I paint, I write.
Though I try to focus big, but my frame is so small. Fifty years of practicing spiritual drawing, that has given the joy of achievement through SVD (Sree Vidya process of Drawing), namely – hymns of Ishaponishada, Shiva-mahimna Stotram. Gita -Purushottom Yoga (published).
At present, working on drawings of all 700 hymns of the Gita.
Was a librarian.