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,