An Englishman's Prapatthi

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Srimate SrivanSatakopa Sri Vedanta Desika Yatindra Mahadesikaya nama:

 

 

 

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 ThAyAr

Sannidhi at MadhurAntakam. A plaque on the Sannidhi walls still stands testimony

to the aforesaid legend, which has bestowed the Lord with yet another tirunAmam,

lovingly coined by His grateful votaries- " Eri kAttha Raman " .

 

 

 

Srimate Sri LakshmINrsimha divya paduka sevaka SrivanSatakopa Sri Narayana

Yatindra Mahadesikaya Nama:

 

Dasan, Sadagopan.