God's Children - by a 15 year old girl - Supraja Seshadri

[Guest guest]

Srimathe ramanujaya Namaha

 

Wonderful article. It really got tears in our eyes. Our wishes to the

young girl, Supraja.

 

Adiyen ramanuja dAsan/dAsee

Varadarajan/Sumithra

 

-

"Pattangi" <danp

<ramanuja>

Friday, November 11, 2005 12:29 PM

[ramanuja] God's Children - by a 15 year old girl - Supraja

Seshadri

 

 

sri:

 

I would highly recommend devotees to read this narrative story by this 15

year old girl: Supraja Seshadri.

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God's Children

 

Sweat was crawling slowly from my forehead, along my cheeks to the edge of

my lips where it spread quickly along the parting. I could taste the salt

of my labor. The last seed was planted, the last sack carried and the last

moments of the day turned to night. The sun was starting to hide behind the

mountains in the distance as I flopped down onto the earth. My mother

earth, my India, my home. The fields were the only place where I felt more

welcome, more real and closer to my land. Letting all the peace of the

evening air sink in me, I pulled my small brown, tattered bag and with the

last of my energy managed to start walking home.

 

My house wasn't very far. It was quite near the fields, away from the

higher caste people. I could hear the temple bell ringing as I walked down

the narrow dirt path lined with palm trees. The temple was quite famous for

'Ranganatha', a popular form of Lord Vishnu, giving the district its name:

Srirangam. People from all over south India would come just to see his rich

black figure decked with gold, lying majestically on a coiled five headed

snake called Adi Sesha. But it was beauty that I could see only in my

dreams. The look of pure, absolute divinity in his lotus-petal shaped eyes.

The solid black stone carved with such precision, outlining his sharp

features. His nose in a straight angle, his thin lips together in a perfect

mountain-like curve with just a subtle, knowing smile. Just below, his

small rounded dimple chin. His chest broad and his stomach tight, both bare

covered in only gold necklaces lined with various gems. His arms with

armlets and bangles, his fingers together showing a perfect palm. His legs

straight, draped in a white silk cloth, a border of just simple gold once

again. His feet and toes in perfect proportion, each smaller than the

first. There he would lie, just perfect.

 

My family and I as well as the others who lived in our area, couldn't enter

the temple. We couldn't even be around it to tell you the truth. The caste

system in the Hindu religion was made only as a division in work and labor.

The highest in the system are the Brahmins. Brahmins are the priestly ones,

quiet and studious they say. Next come the Kshatriyas who are princely and

energetic. After that are the Vaisyas who are apparently 'impelled by

desire'. Last is us, the Sudras. People don't even consider us to be in

the caste system. When passed by any other caste member, you can smell the

air of pride around them, and a negative vibe sent off, making you feel very

undeveloped compared to them. We may not be wealthy to attend school, but

we know the way of life, and how to produce food. The Brahmins are

considered the spiritual power, the Kshatriyas secular power, the Vaisyas

economic power, and again us Sudras- the labor power. I remember the days

when I was a kid; I would stand in the street corner and watch all the

Brahmin children playing fun, various games until I was chased off by some

adult. The atmosphere around the streets surrounding the temples itself is

a change. A feeling of complete devotion takes over you, pulling you

towards it, but as soon as it calms the mind someone will chase you off.

 

So, the caste system was started just for the separation in the jobs,

starting from the priests to the laborers. This slowly transformed into a

minute form of racism. Because of peoples' false pride and their

discrimination, they said we 'polluted' their areas. I bow my head to them,

but as they pass I hear them muttering that we are God's feet. Well, God's

feet are where everyone is wishing to reach anyway when they attain

salvation or 'moksha'. If we are already the feet. A sigh of deep sadness

covered me like a blanket as I entered my humble home.

My children ran to me as I sat on the mat on top of the earth floor inside

the house.

 

"It happened again today father!" the younger one, Andaalu, cried. I looked

into her dark brown eyes as they welled up with tears, her face covered in

sand and mud, her thick black hair spilling all over the place in curled

locks.

"When I asked them if I could play, the pushed me away and threw sand in my

hair." She started with her soft sobs. I knew exactly how she felt. It

happened to me when I was a child, when all the other children would simply

think they were better. It happened to my wife as well, and my parents,

their parents and so on. In her eyes I saw the reflection of my own anger.

There was nothing I could do though. If we adults didn't have power, how

would the children?

"Don't worry child," I said, stroking her hair. "One day will come when we

will be allowed to play with them, when we will be allowed to go to school,

and most importantly when we will be allowed to enter the temple of

Ranganatha." My older son, Maaran, stood in the corner, simply listening as

I hugged my girl tightly. We all knew our social status and what work had

to be done. We stayed away from other people and mingled with our own kind,

even having fun sometimes, sitting around a fire in the late evening and

talking through the night with all the families in our area. Occasionally

though, it would hit us that we were not given the same opportunity as

others and some of us only grew more upset, while others filled with rage.

A day will come.

 

I told my children a day would come just for us, not in the true belief that

it would, only in the slight hope. I told them to soothe them for the

moment, as any father should do. Still, I did not expect this day to come

so fast. I remember it clearly though, around year 1063 (AD), in the month

of June, it happened. We all heard of Sri Ramanuja before, a famous saint

who was teaching the opposite of the philosophy of Sri Shankaracharya, or

something like that. It was too complex for us to learn what he was doing

even if we had the chance, but we thought he was like everyone else,

sticking with only their castes.

 

We were wrong. I stepped out of my house, as usual, as the sun was rising

and folded my sleeping mat made of straw. Maaran did the same behind me,

and then tapped my shoulder. I turned to see his face, jaw open, eyes wide.

I followed his eyesight and there outside was a sage surrounded by all the

Sudras in our community. We ran quickly to the group and gathered with

them, not knowing what to expect. No sage or Brahmin had ever been this

close to us. He was speaking to all of them, in a calm voice.

 

".Everyone is equal. You are all just the same as me and the rest." He

said. His eyes met mine, I could see a sparkle in them and a wave of

excitement ran through my body. He continued, his back against the sun,

creating a halo-like glow around his head and bare torso.

"When we pass away, and reach moksha, we will serve the God-Head. We will

become his hands and feet. Everyone aims to reach his feet, and if all of

you are already feet then you're in the right place." There! Exactly what I

was thinking, I thought it was just me, but I was right. My mouth opened in

complete happiness. Everyone was starting to murmur amongst themselves.

 

"The caste distinctions in the Hindu religion were made only for the

different roles we play in contributing to our society. I am aware of the

treatment you are given by some higher caste members. Our bodies and

appearances may be different, but our souls are one and the same." He

continued. He held the people in front of the crowd and pulled them

forward.

 

"Tiruk Kulattar," He said. "You are God's children." We all cheered, happy

and full of energy.

"I will take you, for now, at least once a year to the temple. You will be

able to see with your own eyes the beauty of Lord Vishnu as Ranganatha." At

this there was a complete uproar. Clapping and running. People fell at the

feet of Sri Ramanuja. Maaran and I ran up to him and fell on our knees. We

grasped his hands in ours and cried with joy. My hands trembled as I could

not believe that the day had come where we could enter the temple. He

pulled us up and simply smiled. Andaalu came running and asked me if it was

true, and with tears in my eyes I nodded, holding her small face in my

hands. We all jumped for quite a while, and even then were not exhausted.

"Come." Sri Ramanuja said quietly. And we all followed in silence.

 

After walking deeper into the area and past houses as well as the stares of

other castes, we entered the temple. When I stepped over the small step,

through the temple doors, butterflies formed in my stomach. We walked on

the cold stone floor with our bare feet and up a few more steps. We passed

pillars with sculptures on them of ladies and birds and smaller gods. Most

of the temple had been cleared for us, either way nobody would want to be

there when we visited. We walked into another door, this time with a

ceiling, and then another. Then we stopped, and in front of me was the big

21-foot long statue of Lord Ranganatha. Everyone was speechless. Standing

in complete awe. From the snake heads, to the full form of the Lord up to

his small toes, my eyes devoured every inch of it hungrily. My heart

pounded faster and my blood became hotter as tears came to my eyes. The

form was much more beautiful than in my dreams. I put my hands together,

praying, not asking for anything in the world except to be able to see this

more often. To one day be able to see this whenever I wanted to. I looked

around me. Everyone had tears of happiness on their faces. Even my

children did. I looked at them, and looked back at the lord. No words are

left in any language for me to describe the feeling within me at that

moment.

 

Sri Ramanuja let us admire the form of the God for quite a while until we

were ushered out. We were allowed to sit on the floor of the temple

outside, against the pillars and just take in the atmosphere. How lucky

others were for being able to do this everyday. Again, I sighed.

I went up to Sri Ramanuja and unable to control myself hugged him; he smiled

and hugged me back. Because of his heart, he looked so beautiful, and in

that I could not bring myself to see who's smile was more divine, his or the

Lord's himself. We all fell at his feet and thanked him as much as we

could, some even calling him their first God.

 

Every year we were allowed to visit the temple after that. Even though

nothing very big has changed in the society yet, at least this was a start.

Now it's year 1103 (AD) and I'm about to pass away at the age of 71. My

children and grandchildren are all around me as I write these last few

words. My last wish is that at least my great-grandchildren will not be

shoved away like we were. The words of Sri Ramanuja echo in my ears. And

with that I close my eyes, and in that moment I see only the form of Vishnu,

hopefully where I will reach anyway.

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===========================================About the author:

 

Supraja is a 15 year old girl - Sri Madhavakannan Swamin's friend's daughter

in Jakarta. Thanks to Sri Madhavakannan Swamin's influence she expressed lot

of interest to learn our sampradayam.

 

She has great interest in Tamil verses and the richness of Tamizh language

also- though she

has been living in Jakarta for more than 12 years and is studying in

American School.

 

Contact the author at: supsesh

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Note from Sri Mukundan VP:

 

The first time I read this article, i was in tears, i hope many other

devotees enjoy this

anubhavam and get to feel our Emberumanar's compassion and love for all

humanity.

Since the first time i have read this over and over every now and then.

 

In our sampradayam there is no Caste, Race, Language, Knowledge, Sex

barriers

all we need is Love for him in our hearts.

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Azhvar EmberumAnAr JeeyAr ThiruvadigalE Saranam

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