The Old Man And His God - Sudha Murthy........heart touching...

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The Old Man And His God Category: Non-Fiction Author: Sudha

Murty Publisher: Penguin Group Price: Rs 135 Buy A few

years back, I was travelling in the Thanjavur district of

Tamil Nadu. It was getting dark, and due to a depression over the Bay ofBengal,

it was raining heavily. The roads were overflowing with water and mydriver

stopped the car near a village. 'There is no way we proceed further

in this rain,' said the driver. 'Why don't you look for shelter somewherenearby

rather than sit the car?' Stranded in an unknown place among unknown

people, I was a bitworried. Nevertheless, I retrieved my umbrella and marched

out into the

pelting rain. I started walking towards the tiny village, whose name Icannot

recall now. There was no electricity and it was a trial walking inthe darkness

and the rain. In the distance I could just make out the shape of a

small

temple. I decided it would be an ideal place to take shelter, so I made myway to

it. Halfway there the rain started coming down even more fiercely andthe strong

wind blew my umbrella away, leaving me completely drenched. I

reached the temple-soaking wet. As soon as I entered, I heard an

elderly person's voice callingout to me. Though I cannot speak Tamil, I could

make out the concern in thevoice. In the course of my travels, I have come to

realize that voices from

the heart can be understood irrespective of the language they speak.

I peered into the darkness of the temple and saw an old man ofabout eighty.

Standing next to him was an equally old lady in a traditional

nine-yard cotton sari. She said something to him and then approached me witha

worn but clean towel in her hand. As I wiped my face and head I

noticed that the man was blind. Itwas obvious from their surroundings that they

were very poor. The Shiva

temple, where I now stood, was simple with the minimum of ostentation in

itsdecorations. The Shivalinga was bare except for a bilwa leaf on top. Theonly

light came from a single oil lamp. In that flickering light a sense of

calm overcame me and I felt myself closer to god than ever before. In

halting Tamil, I asked the man to perform the eveningmangalarati, which he did

with love and dedication. When he finished, I

placed a hundred-rupee note as the dakshina. He touched the note and

pulled away his hand, lookinguncomfortable. Politely he said, 'Amma, I can make

out that the note is notfor ten rupees, the most we usually receive. Whoever you

may be, in a

temple, your devotion is important, not your money. Even our ancestors havesaid

that a devotee should give as much as he or she can afford to. To meyou are a

devotee of Shiva, like everyone else who comes here. Please take

back this money. I was taken aback. I did not know how to react. I

looked at theman's wife expecting her to argue with him and urge him to take

the money,but she just stood quietly. Often, in many households, a

wife encourages the man's

greediness. Here, it was the opposite. She was endorsing her husband'sviews. So

I sat down with them, and with the wind and rain whipping up a

frenzy outside, we talked aboutour lives. I asked them about themselves, their

life in the village temple

and whether they had anyone to look after them. Finally I said, 'Both

of you are old. You don't have anychildren to look after your everyday needs. In

old age one requires moremedicines than groceries. This village is far from any

of the towns in the

district. Can I suggest something to you?' At that time, we had

started an old-age pension scheme and Ithought, looking at their worn-out but

clean clothes, they would be theideal candidates for it.

This time the wife spoke up, 'Please do tell, child.' 'I

will send you some money. Keep it in a nationalized bank orpost office. The

interest on that can be used for your monthly needs. If

there is a medical emergency you can use the capital.' The old man

smiled on hearing my words and his face lit upbrighter than the lamp.

'You sound much younger than us. You are still foolish. Why do I

need money in this great old age? Lord Shiva is also known as Vaidyanathan.He is

the Mahavaidya, or Great doctor. This village we live in has many kindpeople. I

perform the pooja and they give me rice in return. If either of us

is unwell, the local doctor gives us medicines. Our wants are very

few. Why would I accept money from an unknownperson? If I keep this money in

the bank, like you are telling me to,someone will come to know and may harass

us. Why should I take on these

worries? You are a kind person to offer help to two unknown old people, Butwe

are content; let us live as we always have. We don't need anything more.'

Just then the electricity came back and a bright light lit up

the temple. For the first time I saw the couple properly. I could clearlysee the

peace and happiness on their faces. They were the first people I metwho refused

help in spite of their obvious need. I did not agree with

everything he had just said, but it was clear to me that his contentment

hadbrought him peace. Such an attitude may not let you progress fast, but

aftera certain period in life it is required. Perhaps this world with its many

stresses and strains has much to learn from an old couple in a forgettablecorner

of India.-- cheersNarendra P. Sastry,