An Englishman's Prapatthi (Prapatthi = Surrender)

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This was originally posted on another forum. The author has given me

permission to post it here.

 

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An Englishman's Prapatthi

 

It was pouring cats and dogs. The Rain-God was on a destruction

spree, and all fields bearing crop ripe for harvest were submerged.

If the crop continued to be under water for a couple of days more,

the grain would sprout, dashing the growers' hopes of a bountiful

harvest and condemning farmers to another year of abject poverty.

The flowing rainwaters had not spared dwellings too, and they were

under a foot of water. Cattle, chicken, and other helpless creatures

stood drenched, finding no dry place to take shelter in. Children

cried in hunger and were hushed by the miserable parents, who could

find no dry twig or leaves for lighting a fire and making food. The

strong, icy wind pierced the skin like needles and made everyone

shiver.

 

The majority of the village people were sheltered in the Rama temple

at the center of the village, towering high and mighty against the

night sky. The temple was however no perfect haven, for the roof,

left uncared for decades, was leaking. Rain drops which insinuated

themselves through the sieve-like roof did not spare even the

majestic Lord, with the Kodhandam in His hand and holding Piratti's

hand with His other, in a depiction of the divine wedding. It was as

if the Rain god was performing Thirumanjanam to the Lord, whose

tirumeni had not experienced one for months. The temple was in the

preliminary stages of dilapidation, with the villagers paying scant

attention to the needs of their Lord Protector, intent in their

materialistic pursuits. Despite all that, when confronted by the non-

stop downpour, the villagers flocked to the temple, which was the

safest shelter they could find. They had absolutely no qualms in

seeking the Lord's protection in distress, though they had ignored

His existence right in their midst, when prosperity smiled at them.

 

The talk in the temple centered on a single topic-what would happen

to the vast lake on the outskirts of the village, if the torrential

rain continued? People who had been adventurous enough to have a peek

at the lake confirmed that it was almost full in the morning. It was

a huge lake, capable of accommodating a vast quantity of water and

catering to the irrigational needs of fields for a hundred miles

around. It had strong bunds built high to contain and consolidate

inflows, and had never dried up, however rainless be the season.

 

It was this lake that was causing not a little concern among the

locals. What would happen if the unthinkable occurred? What if the

lake were to breach, unable to contain the copious inflows brought in

by the continuing torrents? The thought of all that vast expanse of

water cascading down from the breached bunds was terrifying. It would

wipe out the village and hundreds like it within seconds, leaving

none to recount the disaster. Such a thing had never happened before,

leaving those living near it secure in the belief of its

invincibility. However, nothing can stand in the face of nature's

fury and the lake was no exception. Its bunds were of mud and stone

only, and the immense pressure of water against them could just blow

them away, opening the floodgates to misery.

 

A senior citizen, belonging to more religious times and who had seen

the temple at the height of its prosperity and buzzing with spiritual

activity, lamented the villagers' neglect of the temple and

disinterest in its upkeep. He chided them for having angered the Lord

through their irreverent and ungrateful attitudes. The mills of God

grind slow, but they do grind sure and the old man was certain that

nemesis had caught up with the unrepentant population.

 

Unnerved by the old man's pronouncements, the drenched crowd shushed

him to silence and began to think of petitioning the governmental

authorities for assistance. To prevent the impending catastrophe, the

tank bunds had to be immediately strengthened and heightened. This

was a monumental job, for the lake stretched away as far as the eye

could see and the bunds encompassed a perimeter of several miles.

 

The British were still ruling the country and the District Collector,

a pious man by name Colonel Place, was in charge of the area. When

the matter was represented to him in all its magnitude, he

immediately realized the explosiveness of the situation and ordered

his minions to arrange for strengthening the lake bunds and for

monitoring the condition round-the-clock. The wheels of Government

swung into action and an army of workers busied themselves in

carrying out the Collector's orders.

 

The rain, however, continued to come down in torrents without any let-

up and the water level in the lake kept rising menacingly. Though

night had advanced, sleep eluded the British man, who paced

restlessly in his quarters, worried at the lack of let-up in the

downpour. He decided to inspect the bund-work personally and left

with his retinue to the lake, paying scant attention to those who

tried to dissuade him on the grounds of impending danger. As one used

to leading from the front, he left for the lake and arrived amidst a

steady downpour. He climbed to the top of the bund and the sight that

greeted his eyes took away his breath, the enormity of the situation

striking him with full force.

 

The water level had risen alarmingly, till it now lapped at his feet,

at his position on the top perimeter of the bund. Another hour or so

of the rain and the lake would breach, with cataclysmic consequences.

And since rain was still coming down in sheets accompanied by a gale,

there seemed little hope of averting the inevitable. It was as if

these miserable, uneducated and uncultured masses were destined to a

watery grave. Then a chilling thought struck him-in deciding to visit

the scene of action, he had painted himself into a corner and had no

way now of returning to safety. It looked as if he too would be

sharing the watery graves of the people he had thought about

disparagingly a moment before.

 

Was it the will of the Lord Jesus that he should die in a heathen

land, forsaking his beautiful wife and affectionate children in

distant England? The moment these thoughts occurred to him, he

banished them with guilt-he was the District Collector, responsible

for the lives and safety of thousands, be they heathens or

unlettered. They looked up to him with child-like faith, hoping

against hope that the tall, fair-skinned "Durai" would somehow work a

miracle and save them all from certain death.

 

But what could he do in the face of Nature's unrelenting fury? The

swirling waters of the lake were looking more menacing by the minute,

and the wind had snatched away the umbrella held over his head by a

lackey, apparently angered at the Collector's efforts at protecting

his head while thousands of the proletariat were drenched to the skin

stretched tightly over their skeletal bodies.

 

Colonel Place was desperate and could think of no way to prevent the

waters rushing out on their terrible mission of destruction. The old

man in the temple, who had spoken of the neglected Lord and the

awaiting nemesis, was also one of the Collector's retinue. In the

pushing and pummeling wind, he had reached the Collector's side and,

picking up courage, told the Official that only Lord Rama could save

them now, as the situation seemed beyond human intervention. He

explained to the skeptical Englishman the immense power of the Lord

and His matchless beauty. In the drenching downpour, despite the wind

snatching away many of his words, and in his broken English, he gave

the foreigner an account of the exploits of Sri Rama and of His

bridging the vast ocean with the aid of mere monkeys. The old man

spoke with emotion of the Lord's infinite mercy and His abiding

concern for the innocent.

 

It all seemed pretty unreal to the Collector-he was standing in

pouring rain on the bund of a gigantic lake on the verge of

breaching, hours, perhaps only minutes away from certain death,

listening to an old native blabbering about a heathen god. He shook

his head in disbelief at his own predicament and tried in vain to

shore up his sagging faith in life.

 

The old man, with little else to do, continued his enthralling

narrative of the Lord's prowess with the bow and of how His emissary

was able to just fly over the vast ocean, again speaking with tears

of the infinite mercy that characterized this "KaruNA Kakuttsttha",

the scion of a royal family who spent fourteen hard years in the

jungle, just to obey an unjust command supposedly from His father and

conveyed to Him by a step-mother who was intent on making her own son

the heir to the throne.

 

When we are drowning, we tend to clutch at straws in desperation,

especially when nothing else is available to hold on to. Colonel

Place was in a similar situation. Though his strict Christian

upbringing and military training prompted only skepticism and

disbelief at the old man's tales, still an image began to form in his

mind of a tall, handsome Prince, with a long bow held aloft in His

powerful hands, the personification of mercy and righteous conduct,

the symbol of sacrifice, His lotus-like eyes brimming with mercy for

all mortals, and accompanied by an equally impressive figure,

obviously a younger brother and ever ready to rush to the rescue of

those in distress, at a mere call for succour, be it from whichever

quarter. And once the image of the bewitching Lord entered his mind,

Place found it difficult to shake it off and experienced an extremely

pleasurable sensation, even amidst the desperate situation he found

himself trapped in.

 

Still clutching at straws, his mind reluctantly veered round to the

possibility of appealing to this mythological hero for aid, which

seemed the only thing left, especially since all other efforts had

failed. And once his mind accepted what was hitherto unthinkable for

him, he felt unreasonably buoyed up and prayed in his heart of hearts

to Sri Rama to somehow, somehow, lead him and thousands of his

subjects out of this apparently inescapable end.

 

"Oh Ram!", prayed the Englishman," Please do this, if not for my

sake, then for the sake of the thousands who believe in You with all

their spiritual might and conviction. I was listening to the tales of

Your impossible feats with only half an ear. However, if it was

possible for You to conquer that vast body of waters (lying between

You and Lanka) with the mere threat of retribution, it should be no

difficult task for You to control the menacing waters of this

MadhurAntakam lake and to keep them confined to the inner bunds. I

know full well that these are the words of an infidel who lacks

absolute faith in You: but Your reputation as the epitome of mercy

prompts me to beseech You.

 

Do this for me and for the sake of the hundreds of men, women and

children who are in peril, and I shall build a temple for Your

Consort, whom You appear to love dearly. Lord, please do help me!"

 

The moment this secret prayer was concluded, the Englishman saw, in a

brilliant flash of lightning, the figures of two extraordinarily

handsome young men, both with bows held aloft, appearing on the tank

bund in the pouring rain. Their luminescent eyes seemed to radiate

compassion and benevolence. Their beauty was beyond description and

their regal bearing exposed their flawless lineage. They were

perfectly proportioned specimens of virility, with a majestic gait

and magnificent deportment. The elder of the divine duo looked at the

spell-bound Colonel Place with twinkling eyes that seemed to hold out

an assurance of assistance, amused at the Englishman's effort at

bribery through the offer of a temple construction for Sri Mythily.

 

The awe-struck foreigner, overwhelmed by the unbelievable apparition,

just fainted and fell on the soddy tank bund with a thud, slipping

into unconsciousness, obviously incapable of absorbing the full

delight of the divine spectacle.

 

When he emerged from his trance, Colonel Place found himself in his

comfortable bed in his own quarters, with his minions peering

anxiously at his supine form. Reminded of the impossible situation in

which he had fainted, the Collector sat up with a jerk and demanded

from his subordinates the latest position on the flooding threat, and

felt immense relief wash over him when told that the rains had

stopped with miraculous suddenness during the night and the lake

waters too, poised on the brink, had receded to fairly safe levels.

Through a planned opening of the sluices, the water level was brought

back to near normal and the threat had blown-over.

 

Colonel Place's skin tingled when he remembered the Divine Youth he

had witnessed in that flash of lightning, who had appeared as if in

answer to his unuttered prayers, and effortlessly saved not only

himself but innumerable others too from a certain and watery grave.

The vivid image of the Lord and His infinite mercy in answering the

insincere prayers of an unbelieving foreigner continued to occupy the

Englishman's thoughts forever, and he used to recount the tale with

fervour to sceptical audiences even after his return to England.

 

However, Colonel Place's newfound faith did not desert him the moment

his job was done, and he lived up to his part of the bargain by

constructing the Thaayaar Sannidhi at Madhuraantakam. A plaque on the

Sannidhi walls still stands testimony to the aforesaid legend, which

has bestowed the Lord with yet another tirunaamam, lovingly coined by

His grateful votaries-"Eri kaattha Raman".

 

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