An Englishman's Prapatthi - prapatti = surrender...

[Guest guest]

---------- Forwarded Message ----------

Internet: "Gokulchandra Das"

04-Jan-03

Basu Ghosh (das) ACBSP (Baroda - IN)

Fwd: "An Englishman's Prapatthi"

---------------------------

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".

 

------- End of Forwarded Message ------