My Father – Kind and Furious 

Dr. J. Nageswara Rao

One may think that my father was a mixture of opposites when I say that he was kind and furious. But he was not. He was kind to all except when his values – which he practised – were at stake, and then he flew into a rage.

During his student days, he rented a small portion which consisted of a kitchen and a room. This room served the purpose of a living room and a bedroom too in Aminjikarai, Madras. There were about twenty rented portions altogether in a large house.

The owner of the house was a middle-aged person named Subramanian. He often derived sadistic pleasure in harassing his tenants. None of the tenants dared oppose him as they feared his abusive mouth. 

 It was nine o'clock in the morning, and my father was getting dressed to go to the college. My mother was busy in the small kitchen cooking food and packing the lunch box for my father. Suddenly the tap water in the sink stopped. My mother was worried and stopped the cooking in the middle. She ran to my father in the room and told him that must have been the mischief of Subramanian.

  Subramanian used to close the main valve of the taps and enjoyed the plight of the hapless housewives.

  My mother told my father sadly that she was unable to finish the cooking and pack his lunch box.

  My father was very hungry, and his hunger doubled his anger. “It’s o.k.," he said to my mother and  left the house for the medical college with a bundle of books under his arms.

  My father was unable to focus on the professor's eloquent lecture during the crucial human anatomy class that day.

  He informed his classmates about the incident and skipped the noon classes. Some of his friends assured him to stand by him to teach Subramanian a lesson.

  When my father reached home, feeling ravenously hungry, Subramanian accosted my father in the front courtyard and gave out a villainous smile. “Pavam, onnum sapadamale college poyi vandiya. Ippu nalla pasikkada. (Poor guy, you went to college and returned without eating anything? You must be very hungry now.)

  My father could no longer control his seething anger. He took his left shoe into his left hand. He caught hold of his short hair at the nape of Subramanian’s neck (pilaka in Telugu and kudimi in Tamil) and hit him hard on his face with the shoe.

  Subramanian soon began to bleed at his mouth. He ran into his kitchen and returned immediately with a knife with a wooden handle (katthipeeta in Telugu and aruvamani in Tamil) to slit my father’s throat.

  But all of a sudden some five or six able-bodied classmates of my father rushed into the scene according to the plan hatched before. “Dare lay your hand on Nageswara Rao¹ You will be finished. They yelled at Subramanian, "Mind it."

  He was instantly intimidated. He dropped his aruvamani and knelt. He folded his hands and said feebly, “Mannicchu saamee. Inimel kettavelai pannamatten (Sirs, pardon me; hereafter I will not resort to bad things).

  That section of the house was occupied by my mother and father until he earned his A.L.I.M. medical diploma. 

  Subramanian, the landlord of the house, had not bothered my parents thereafter.

My father runs his car over a bicycle

  When my older brother Janakiram was sixteen years old, an auspicious day for his thread marriage (upanayanam) was fixed by our family priest.

  The ceremony was a few days away and my father, Janakiram and I drove to the market in T. Nagar, Madras, in our Baby Austin car.

  We were returning after buying the vegetables and provisions needed for the ceremony. When we were about to turn to the left and enter Usman Road from Pinjala Subramania Ayyar Street, a cyclist who was biking in front of our car indicated his right hand to turn to the right. But he went left, not as he signalled. The car hit the bicycle, and the cyclist fell on the road.

  My father got down from the car and enquired, "Thank God, you’re not injured. But you might have sustained a shock due to the impact of the accident. I am a doctor. Put your bicycle aside and get into my car, I will give you some painkillers at my clinic.”

  But my father’s kind words were met with rudeness.

  “I don’t care whether you are a doctor or an actor," he yelled” I’ll file a police case against you.”

  My father was aghast at his rough behaviour. Yet he was very patient with him. “O.K., you're welcome to file as many cases as you like against me. But remove your bicycle in front of my car. I have to hurry back home.”

  But the cyclist was adamant. He did not remove the bike. “Come what may,” my father said angrily and got back into the driver’s seat, shifted the gear and pressed the accelerator hard.

  My father’s car ran over the bicycle, and it was unrecognisable. 

  A week later, my father was served with summons by the Magistrate Court of Saidapet, Madras. 

  My father represented his case party-in-person without engaging a professional lawyer. 

  The court provided the cyclist with legal aid, considering his poverty. The petitioner argued that he bled all over his body due to the injuries sustained in the accident. He accused that my father, though a doctor, of not having bothered to admit him into any hospital and went on his way.

  When my father was called into the witness box, he questioned as to how the petitioner could have walked home if he were really injured grievously. 

  Next, our manservant Balakrishnan, who was in the back seat of the car said that the cyclist who was biking in front of the car indicated that he would turn to the left but turned right into Usman Road. 

  After the magistrate was noting all the relevant points of the case, my father concluded his arguments by blasting the bomb that the electric post, at which the accident was said to have occurred, did not exist at all.

  The sub-inspector, the sergeant and a constable who registered the case. were nonplussed at my father’s submission. 

  The magistrate ordered the police to check the veracity of my father’s submission.

  The police rushed to the accident spot and checked for the electric post in question. Evidently the electric post was far away from the accident spot. The police entered the electric post number wrongly.

  The magistrate dismissed the case and reprimanded the police to behave themselves.

  My father’s friends cautioned him that the police, who lost the case, would bear a grudge against my father and might implicate him in a false case.

  Luckily the police had forgotten the case. Later. some of them visited my father’s clinic for treatment.

My father Always sticks to his guns

  My father always stood firm on what he had believed to be right. He never changed his opinions much.

 He was a small-time tennis player at the Krishna Club (closed permanently in 2010, standing as a mute witness of its past glory of about a century), Machilipatnam.

  One day when he was through the game, he tripped over and fell down. Soon he felt a shooting pain in his knee.

  The X-ray revealed a small piece of the tibia was broken and dangling, touching the cartilage. Fellow doctors advised my father to rush to Madras to get it operated upon at the earliest. 

  But my father dismissed the suggestion of surgery and argued that the small piece of the tibia would eventually be reduced to powder due to constant friction during the movement of the knee joint. But all of them were sceptical about my father’s perceived logic. 

  But fortune favoured my father. The pain in the knee joint gradually subsided. A fresh x-ray showed no trace of the piece of the tibia. It might have become powder, as my father expected. 

Again, a party in person in high court

  This is my father’s second incarnation as a party in person.

  My father was issued a notice by the government of Madras Presidency to pay excise duty as the government thought that he mixed alcohol in Draksharishta and Dasamoolarishta, the Ayurvedic medicines manufactured by him

  My father filed a writ petition in the Madras High Court, challenging the government order, and obtained the required legal permission to argue his case party in person without engaging a professional lawyer.

  Mohana Kumara Mangalam, the eminent lawyer and later union minister, represented the government in the case.

  My father argued that he did not bring alcohol from outside and mix it in the said herbal medicines. He informed the honourable judge that the alcohol content in the herbal medicines concerned was autogenerated through the chemical reactions called in the parlance of chemistry 'anaerobic respiration' (in the absence of air) and 'aerobic respiration' (in the presence of air). 

  While the case was halfway through, it so happened that my father came across Kumara Mangalam in the courtyard during recess. My father greeted him with a wide hi. Kumara Mangalam returned the smile and said, "Doctor, your argument is very powerful, though you are not a professional lawyer. You can avail of my legal advice if you need it.”

  Of course my father declined his offer politely. 

  My father won the case in his favour. He changed the name of his draksharishta to Vitone to avoid the confusion of the name from his competitors.

  I was given to understand that a raja of an estate also argued his case of a property as a party in person. But the judge was exasperated during the raja’s argument and remarked that the raja was arguing his case ‘out of depth'. Then the raja understood what the learned judge had meant and engaged a professional lawyer.

  So it obviously means that my father was the only petitioner in those days who argued his case party in person and won.

  Refuses to be the co-producer of a film

  My father’s classmate and renowned stage actor Dr. Raja Rao urged my father to invest Rs 50 thousand in his upcoming film "Puttlllu", in which he was the hero and Jamuna was the heroine. The film was an utter flop and my father thanked his stars for saving him from losing his hard-earned money in the film venture.  

  Burns his research papers

My father had done extensive research and processed a formula to manufacture a herbal tablet for safe abortion even during the last week of the fifth month of pregnancy. He showed it to an Ayurvedic pharmaceutical company. The managing director of the company was so impressed that he offered my father Rs. One lakh towards patent rights.

My father requested for some time. The next day he kept awake till midnight. He thought deeply about whether to sell the patent right or not. The next morning he arrived at a firm decision. He burnt the research papers of the drug.

My mother and my two older brothers rushed into the living room to know what had happened. My father told them that the proposed drug might be misused by the youth to indulge in unbridled sex.

Zero tolerance

  Once my father caught a teenage boy while he was stealing mangoes in our garden. My father was enraged at the theft. He thought the boy ought to be taught a lesson; otherwise, he would grow up a burglar. He tied his hands with a rope and produced him at the Pondy Bazar Police Station. My father told the sub-inspector what had happened. The S.I. took pity on the boy who was crying unconsolably. “Avan chinna payyanda. Pavam vidungo saar (He is a little boy). Poor fellow. Leave him, sir.

  “No, you must teach the boy a lesson," my father said and reversed his car.

  The S.I. sent the boy away as soon as my father was out of sight.

  Thus, my father was kind to good people and stern with bad ones throughout his life.

My Dad – My Hero

 

Dr. J. Nageswara Rao

If somebody is asked as to who his hero is, pat comes the reply that so-and-so movie star is his hero. But as far as I am concerned, I would say that my father was my hero. He rose from rags to riches.

 My grandfather Jonnalagadda Lakshmi Narayana had five sons and one daughter, my father being the third one of the six children.

  My grandfather was a Kuchipudi dance teacher, and he taught dance to devadasis (temple dancers) who paid him a little money, rice and provisions as a fee. He toured from his native village Avanigadda to Kodali and Mellamaru in the Krishna district of Andhra Pradesh to take dance classes. He was a purohit too. He used to conduct religious rites like naming ceremonies, thread marriages (upanayanam), house-warming ceremonies etc. to supplement his income. But the money he earned thus,  was not enough to support his large family. So my father had to discontinue his studies from fifth standard. 

  My grandfather wanted to initiate my father into the Kuchipudi dance tradition much against to his wish. He wanted to study further and grow up as a Britisher. What should he do? Is it better for him to learn dance and become a dancer or to learn English and develop into a European? He came to a firm decision before daybreak. He slipped out of his house with a loincloth and upper garment on his body.

  He left Avanigadda for Machilipatnam, which is about 45 miles away.

  He walked for a few miles and then hitchhiked a bullock cart. He was very hungry when he reached Machilipatnam after the tedious journey. He went to his paternal uncle Bhushiah’s house with the hope of getting sumptuous food. But his uncle was cruel and refused to feed him. Instead, he directed him to the bungalow of the Raja of Challapalli. He said that there would be a feeding ceremony for Brahmins (Brahmana Samaradhana) the next day. Then my father begged for a glassful of water at least. He was kind enough to do that small favour. 

  It was midnight by then, and my father’s legs ached. He could walk no more, as he was ravenously hungry. He begged the driver of a bullock cart to drop him at Challapally. But he pushed away my father roughly. 

  The small family of a couple and two children in the cart took pity on my father. The head of the family ordered the cartman to stop.

  My father got into the cart and thanked him.

  It was daybreak by the time the bullock cart reached Challapalli. The cart man halted the cart near the bungalow of the Raja. My father got down and went into the front yard of the bungalow where the brahmin priests were assembling for a holy feeding ceremony.

  The head priest noticed my father’s unkempt appearance and ordered a royal servant to give my father an oil bath and give him washed white clothes.

  My father, with neatly combed tuft of hair at the nape of the neck and holy ash on the forehead, sat among the priests. He also recited some mantras which were taught by my grandfather. 

  After a bountiful meal with all the choicest puddings, my father slept like a log in a corner for sometime.

  It was evening when he woke up. He began to walk along the dusty lanes. He had no idea as to where to go. Suddenly there was a commotion. Some patriots were leading a procession, chanting vande Mataram. Though my father was too young to know the purpose of the song and the procession, he also joined them and cried ‘Vande Mataram.’

  A policeman caught my father by his hair and slapped him on his back. He was shocked and asked the policeman why he beat him. “Vande Mataram is a bad song, and only bad people will chant it. 'Understand, boy,' the policeman thundered at my father.

  My father bent his head timidly and kept silent.

  There were no juvenile detention homes in Machilipatnam during the days of early freedom struggle. So my father was detained on the premises of a school, a makeshift prison. 

  The next day morning another policeman on duty was surprised to notice a Brahmin boy of ten as a detainee. He took pity on my father and released him.

  Now my father sat on the pyol (arugu in Telugu) of a tiled house. He made a resolve to continue his studies in the town. But he did not know how to secure the means for it.

  While my father was engrossed in such thoughts, the elderly householder came out. “Who are you, boy?” he asked. 

  My father narrated his story in brief and expressed his ambition to study in high school.

  The kindly elderly man who was also a brahmin offered meals and accommodation for a day in a seven-day week for my father. He also promised to arrange daily meals and accommodation for the remaining six days, a day at each house for six days. A person who depends for food on such an arrangement is referred to VAARAALA ABBAYI in Telugu.

  My father did odd jobs for them and got a few annas (one anna being equal to about six paise). He bought a postcard for three paise and wrote a letter to our grandfather. My father sought the pardon of our grandfather for his sudden disappearance and disobedience. He assured his father about his well-being in the letter.

  The kindly householder who first took notice of my father got him admitted into the George Coronation School in the sixth class.

  Thus my father completed his eighth class, scoring high grades. He prosecuted his studies from sixth class to eighth class, wholly depending on charities. Meanwhile, he made periodical visits to Avanigadda and made his parents and siblings happy.

  My father wanted to study medicine and put the tag Dr before his name. The four-year diploma course of Ayurveda Bhishagvara was available in Madras after middle-level high school education.

  One fine morning he thanked all the donors who supported him for three years and boarded the passenger train for Madras with a four-anna coin in his pocket. He had no means to buy the ticket. So when the ticket collector entered the coach to check the tickets of the passengers, my father hid himself in the lavatory till the tc left.

  When the train reached Madras Central Station, my father, being short, mixed with the crowd of passengers and slipped out.

  The hot sun was at the zenith of the sky and my father sat on the pavement near the railway station. He enquired of the passers-by the way to any medical college. Most of them were not bothered to answer his question. At last a middle-aged person took pity on him. He understood that my father was a Telugu boy by his accent. He replied in chaste Telugu. He directed my father to the Integrated School of Medicine at Kilpauk and advised him to meet the principal of the medical school Dr. Achanta Lakshmipathi.

   My father walked for two hours in the blazIng sun and reached the medical school in Kilpauk. 

 My father was about to swoon due to extreme hunger, as he did not eat anything for the past one and a half days. Dr Lakshmipathi understood my father’s plight. He made arrangements for him to eat at the canteen.

  My dad said he wanted to study Ayurvedic medicine. He added that he had no money to pay the required fee.

   For my father, Dr Lakshmipathi had a plan. He said that my father was to babysit his infant daughter Indira after his class hours. He would pay the fee and arrange for my father’s accommodation and food. He needed a babysitter since his wife, Mrs Achanta Rukmini, was the minister for public health in the Provincial Assembly of the Madras Presidency. Now Marshalls Road in Egmore, Madras, was renamed as Rukmini Lakshmipathi Road.

 Lakshmipathi instructed my father to give a brief account of himself in grammatical English. He wanted to test my father’s English knowledge since the said Ayurvedic course would be taught in the English medium.

  My father obtained the Bhishagvara certificate from the Integrated School of Medicine after completing a four-year Ayurvedic diploma programme.

  Now my father wanted to take the A.L.I.M. course, which was a combined course of Ayurveda and allopathy. Though the course was designed for four years, my father was offered a condensed course of two years since he had already studied Ayurveda in the Bhishagvara course. 

  After completing A.L.I.M., also at the same medical school... My father served as an intern (house surgeon) in a government hospital.

  Later this medical school was upgraded into a medical college, Kilpauk Medical College which offered M.B.B.S., medical degree, scrapping both A.L.I.M and Ayurveda Bhishagvara courses.

  While studying A.L.I.M., my father manufactured Chyavanaprash. Draksharishta, Sowbhagya Sonti, etc. and sold them at the medical shops. He had an old Rally bicycle. He fixed a wooden tray at the back of the seat of the bicycle and neatly packed the medicines in it. He biked for long distances and sold the indigenous medicines.

  Good times favored my father and by the time he finished the A.L.I.M. course, he earned a lot of money. He got a spacious house constructed at Bazulullah Road in T. Nagar of the city and bought a Baby Austin car. 

  My father often reminisced about Dr. Lakshmipathi. He was grateful to him and used to say that it was he (Lakshmipathy) who shaped a rough boy of fifteen (my father) into a young, promising doctor. It was he who taught my father yogasanas and advised him not to skip the asanas even for a single day.

Our sweet home

  My father lived in that house for more than fifty years. He performed even the most difficult yogasanas till his end in his early eighties.

  On a fateful day, he fell to his right side motionless while performing Seershasana (head downwards and legs upwards).

  The grand house which enshrined sweet memories for my father, mother and us (his children) crumbled and gave way to an engineering college.

To date I have a huge colourful photograph of my father in a carved wooden frame on the wall of my study. I worship him as my hero with tearful eyes before I sit down before the computer for work.

  

 God’s Command Fulfilled

Acharya Ananda

    It was 1999,the penultimate year for the dawn of the 21st century and       the birth of the year 2000, but that one year seemed a distant dream  as     the world had lost its reason and plunged into turmoil.

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    The sky was dark and ugly like a monster. The intense heat of the                atmosphere was such that people were panicked as if the clouds were        raining fire.

  Everything on earth, trees and plants, animals and birds and the once     green fields were scorched as black as coal. Rotting corpses and carcasses were littered in the dried fields.

People thought that it was the end of the world and accepted their destiny stoically. The desperate conditions drove many people to crime and violence and they indulged in looting, arson, rape and killing.

  Could it be the end of the world really? If so, why does God, who created this beautiful world of myriad wonders as his divine sport, sing a dirge to it.

  No! It cannot be. It must be the wrong interpretation of the theologians. No artist destroys the beautiful painting he has created.

  Count it be that the Almighty who has created the world out of himself is withdrawing it into Himself again.  

  Acharya Ananda was troubled by these thoughts at his ashram at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna and Sarawati. He was in deep meditation in front of the large bronze image of Lord Shiva - Nataraja in the dancing pose. As he passed through the five levels of awareness and entered into deep consciousness he experienced strange vibrations all over his body. He knew by intuition that he would receive a divine command shortly.  He opened his eyes and beheld the image of Lord Nataraja. It was no more a bronze image. It was God Himself. The brilliant divine light flooded the ashram for a full minute. Gradually the effulgence became a small spark and it circumambulated thrice round the image of the God. Then it entered Ananda’s head.

Now Ananda had become aware of the divine command imparted into him.

  Anand was the only son of Ramananda, a middle class orthodox brahmin, who taught Sanskrit and the  basics of shastras on a raised platform in front of his house. Though it was a small household school, it was considered to be a seat of good learning for brahmin children in the village because of his vast erudition of the Vedas and Upanishads.

  Anand, the apple of the eyes of his parents, was brought up with great love and affection. But the parents doting on the boy did not come in the way of their stern discipline in learning and performing religious duties.

  When Ananda was eight years old, his head was tonsured, with five small tufts round his head and the sacred thread marriage (upanayanam) was performed. 

 After upanayanam, he was initiated into the perusal of the holy scriptures and when he was fourteen, he had mastered all the shastras by the grace of Goddess Saraswati.

  Now Ananda assisted his father in running the home school.

  Thus elapsed fifteen years and Ananda was about to be betrothed to his maternal uncle’s daughter, who had bloomed into youth on an auspicious day.

  When Ananda’s father was looking into the almanac to fix an auspicious date for exchange of betel leaves in acceptance of the marriage proposal, came the command from the pontiff through a messenger that Ananda be initiated into the religious order which preached  that the universal soul and the individual soul were one.

  Ananda’s father accepted the command stoically as ordained by God Shiva. He felt an intuition that his son was born for a divine cause.

  But it was a sentimental blow for Ananda’s mother, who wanted the house to be filled with half a dozen noisy grandchildren and a dutiful daughter-in-law to look after her in her old age. Alas! Ananda should remain a celibate if he was initiated into the Advaita order.

  But Anand was Sri Rama in obedience to his father and eventually he found himself in the presence of the Pontiff in flowing saffron robes.

  From his childhood Ananda was always perturbed by the plight of the poor and the diseased.

  At the tender age of seven, he was seized with the burning question that if God were the creator of this University, why should He create the ugly along with the beautiful, the pauper along with the prince and the barren land along with the fertile one.

  Unable to contain his troubled mind any longer, he expressed his doubts to his father. His father sat him in his lap and kissed his forehead.”Son,”he said, “the mysteries of creation are not to be questioned. The humble human being should accept whatever comes across the path of his life, as ordained by God. Even those great savants who could churn the four Vedas, the one hundred and eight Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita into a glassful of water and drink it in libation, are unable to realize the inscrutable will of the Almighty. So my dear little son, do not trouble yourself with such profound questions.  Pray the immortal One for salvation. Proceed that way. Do not question the wisdom of the Sastras. It’s time for you to offer obeisance to the setting sun (Sandhya Vandan). Go and perform it with deep concentration. my son.”

  But Ramananda’s exhaustive answer could not clear the philosophical doubts of Ananda. He thought that his father gave the same answer which the scriptures say time and again.  These burning questions made Ananda realize later that he could no longer confine himself within the four walls of the center of the religious order.So with the permission of the Pontiff he left the center. He established an ashram at Triveni Sangamam.

  “Yes! Now I have found the answer” Ananda said to himself.as he opened his eyes and came into the physical reality, from meditation. 

  “Man suffers from an innate weakness to do wrong. If wise counsel prevails upon him to do the right then he will be a good person and a child of God.”

  “Man is a spoke in the wheel of birth and rebirth which goes on rotating  as long as the past deeds have a sway on the present life of a person.”

  “Yet man is endowed with discretion. By discrimination the wrong from the right and by deep meditation on the Eternal Consciousness, one realizes that he is none but the universal consciousness (Aham Brahma). With that enlightenment, one should help his fellow beings to attain the same supreme bliss and encourage them to follow their profession with the greatest possible work culture.

  With this divine message on his lips and with an ethereal  light glowing all over his body, Ananda left his ashram.

   Ananda, now the messiah of God, was treading the lanes and bylanes. He was visiting the houses of the poor and the rich alike. Just by the magnificence of his presence, the rich realized their follies and parted their excess wealth to their poor brethren.

  There was death in a house. Ananda’s discourse about the perishability of the human body like an earthen pot, brought solace to the grieving family. 

  There was a wedding in another house. Ananda blessed the couple and enlightened them with the knowledge that the wife and the husband are two equal halves of a single soul and they should pass through the various phases, their attention constantly fixed on the Almighty.

  At another house, a young bride was being burnt.by their avaricious inlaws for not bringing enough dowry. Ananda made his way into the house through the crowd that gathered outside. Ananda rushed to the kitchen and cast his spiritual glance at the bride, who was set on fire. The flames on her body disappeared and she felt she bathed in cool, scented water. Ananda casts his benign look at the villainous bridegroom and the inlaws. Then it dawned on them that a daughter-in-law was part and parcel of the family and should be treated affectionately like a daughter. They prostrated before Ananda in repentance and Ananda blessed them with long life and prosperity. Ananda kept walking through villages, towns and cities. Sometimes he appeared like a miniature being and some other times he was a macro being. While he walked, his pace had become superhuman. Sometimes a single pace of his foot covered hundreds of miles.

  By the touch of his blessed feet, the barren fields turned lively green and the dried river beds became moist and were soon flowing with water.

  While Ananda was walking a sea of humanity was following him. As he crossed the Deccan plateau, a fierce communal riot was in progress in a big city. People who lost their reason and were intoxicated with communal frenzy, were cutting one another’s throats in the name of religion. There was looting, arson and killings everywhere.

  Ananda raised his hand and said ‘stop.’ 

  Suddenly all the lethal weapons in the hands of the hooligans slipped and fell down. The warring communities realized the essential nature of religion. A feeling of brotherliness dawned on them and all of them hugged one another like brothers.

  “Religion is nothing but a way of life that lays down social and moral codes for the well being of the people and ultimately prepares them to become one with the Supreme Spirit” thus  spake Ananda and move on. The gospel of Ananda put an end to the bloody wars in the name of religion and politics forever.  As Ananda reached the outskirts of Delhi, word reached the prime minister about Ananda’s arrival to the capital city.

  The Parliament was summoned urgently and the President, the Prime Minister and the opposition parties adopted a unanimous resolution declaring Ananda the spiritual, moral and political  head of the country. The President and the Prime Minister would rule over the country as Ananda’s representatives. 

  The President approached Ananda and prostrated before him. “Oh, the enlightened One!”he beseeched, “ War has become imminent with our neighboring country, which threatens the peace of the sub-continent. No doubt, our soldiers are valiant and we are sure to win the war. But the price is heavy and our future generations have to pay for it. The war will mostly be fought with nuclear weapons.

  “Fear not,”Ananda said and proceeded towards the frontiers of the country where the nuclear war was to take place.

  To keep pace with Ananda’s gigantic foot steps, the residual army in Delhi had to move in fast army vehicles in escort.

  Ananda’s blessed feet touched the battlefield where the conventional weapons like the battle tanks, cannons and the long range firing guns of both the sides were ready to plunge into action. 

  A little distance away, medium and long range missiles which could reduce their targets into ashes and asphyxiation bombs which could suck away life in the range of about fifty kilo meters were ready to be activated to wipe away the human race from the sub-continent.

  As Ananda stood at the center of the battlefield, the soldiers of rival countries witnessed nothing but Ananda and Ananda only. He was here, he was there, he was everywhere. There was little space left where there was no Ananda.

  By Ananda’s divine presence everywhere, the weapons of death and destruction were immobilized. News reached the president of the rival country who rushed to the frontiers of his country to see the wonder for himself. 

  Ananda cast his divine look upon the dictator and he realized his inner self  immediately. He avowed in the divine presence of Ananda that he would not wage any war, not only against India but also not against any other country.  In the same breath he declared Ananda the spiritual and political head of his country.

  Thus Ananda’s march of victory continued and country after country, continent after continent accepted his spiritual and political supremacy. 

  Wherever Ananda treaded, the touch of his blessed feet brought peace and prosperity to the region. Throughout the world people spoke nothing about but the divine name of Ananda because he was their Messiah who mitigated the suffering of humanity.

  When Ananda reached the statue of liberty in the United States of America, the people there were panicky. They were awaiting the arrival of Ananda eagerly because they believed that he might do something - some sort of a miracle to ward off a nuclear  conflict between the United States and the Soviet Union. The realization that the world was going to end due to nuclear catastrophe drove the people of the US, western and eastern Europe including the Soviet Union to commit all sorts of violent acts. The world was literally burning. Ananda stood beside the statue of liberty. A benign look from the kindly eyes of Ananda restored order throughout the world. The three commanders of the army, navy and airforce resigned to their posts and fell at Ananda’s feet. “Oh, enlightened One,”the three said in unison,”Our president and the president of the Soviet Union, gave commands to activate the most modern nuclear weapons to outdo each other in a fit of rage. The nuclear bombs were to be exploded in a matter of minutes. Only a miracle from you can save the world.”

  The multitudes of the people who assembled there were looking at Ananda with a desperate ray of hope. 

  Ananda invoked the mantras which bestowed the ANIMADi SIDDHIS (power to become a macrobeing  to power to grow into a micro being). Ananda was growing and growing into space.

  Now he was a macro being. The liberty statue and the skyscrapers of the States looked like tiny structures before his gigantic size. He raised his hand and stretched his palm, which spread the entire space.

  Now he had all the nuclear weapons of the big five countries in his vast palm which spread throughout space. He crushed all the nuclear arms in his palm, which turned into

Petals of roses.

  Ananda was everywhere. His macro being was a divine feast to the eyes at Lenin Square in Moscow, Trafalgar square in London and Eiffel Tower  in Paris at the same time.

  The numerous ecclesiastical heads of various nations arrived on the scene in their nuclear powered airplanes and declared Ananda to be the spiritual head of their respective seats. 

  The spiritual heads of the USA and the USSR also prayed to Ananda to be their spiritual mentar.  

  Ananda spake: I am with you. I am everywhere. I am with you and you are with Me. Man has an innate Godly spark in him. He should realize it through constant practice of  meditation on the Absolute. As the Supreme Spirit enlightens the individual, the individual should behold Him in every animate and inanimate things and serve humanity. 

  Whenever there is decline in Dharma I manifest Myself in any form and restore Dharma.”

  The people of the world listened to the divine revelation with rapt attention. 

  “  We thank thee, O Lord,” they prayed in one voice. “Thou hast led us to light from darkness. We humble mortals abide  by thy divine command.”

  Ananda blessed the world. Gradually the macro form of Ananda was reduced to micro form and disappeared. 

  Having fulfilled the divine command, Ananda found himself at his ashram at the confluence of Ganga, Yamuna and Saraswati. He sat in deep meditation before the huge bronze image of the dancing Siva.

  As Ananda gradually reached the first stage in meditation, the light of life departed through a micro hole in his head and merged in the breast of Lord Nataraja. Ananda’s mortal remains fell dead.

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  This story is woven on reading about  the prediction of  Nostradamus  that a Hindu sage of South India unifies the world and restores order in 1999.

*********************************

 The Twilight Tragedy 

J.L. Narasimha Rao

My father wired me not to risk a journey in the cyclonic storm.  “Your absence at your sister’s wedding will be fully justified,”  he said in the telegragram. My friends too persuaded me to cancel my journey to Madras.

  But I brushed aside their warnings. The cyclonic storm was a God-given opportunity for me to show my adventurous spirit in driving and possibly create a world record by covering three hundred miles in less than four hours in the inclement weather.

  It was past midnight when I took out my Scuderia Ferrari from the garage. In fifteen minutes I was on the national highway, driving at break-neck speed. 

  It was raining heavily and the wind was howling. The depression in the Bay of Bengal which had formed the previous day, intensified into a cyclonic storm with winds blowing at great velocity along the coast. I looked out through the windscreen.  Fields were submerged in the flood waters and giant trees were lying uprooted on both sides of the highway. I saw a thatched hut being washed away in the waters like a boathouse in a flooded lake. I thought I heard desperate cries from the hut. ‘Nature’s fury” I muttered, “nobody can pacify. Yet man’s brave struggle against it has been going on since prehistoric age and it has been a continuous process.

  Suddenly I applied brakes as a ghost-like figure in a long rain coat waved its hand to stop my car. But, to my surprise and joy it was not a ghost but a damsel in distress. 

  “The cyclone…I am scared.”she cried incoherently. “Please drop me at a safe place. Your kind help…”her obliging words were drowned in the ear piercing crash of a tree in the fields nearby.  She pulled open the door with all her strength and jumped into the car.

  “Where are you going?” I asked her.

  “Madras.”she replied

  “Me too,” I said and started the car.

  The whistling wind, the rain and the flood with a charming girl by my side lent a romantic atmosphere to the place.

  She took off her raincoat and leaned back on the seat, quite exhausted. She was panting for breath and her bosom heaved in perfect rhythm.  Driving the car, I cast a sidelong glance at her. I thought that she had become conscious that I was devouring her beauty with my eyes. She drew the pullover round her shoulders. “Marooned here?” I looked at her.

  As if in an answer, she began to cry. 

 I was taken aback and asked myself whether I had said something improper.

 “The bus”she said between sobs,”I was travelling in, washed away in the floods I jumped out and swam to a boulder near the road.

  “You are the lone survivor then,” I said, slowing down the car to avoid hitting a carcass, being washed across the road. 

  “Yes,”she said, “ I started from Vijayawada by bus. I was going to Madras to join my parents. When the bus crossed Chirala, it was swept away in the flood waters.”

  “And you escaped with the raincoat and the pullover as your only baggage,” I completed her harrowing account.

  “It’s horrible,”she hid her face in her hands. “The bus was full with passengers but no one was left alive but me.”

  “Thank God, You’ve survived,”I said, “please try to get over the shock.”

  It was past midnight and the heavy downpour continued to spatter the windscreen of the car. I felt terribly hungry. I stopped the car by the side of the road.

  “Why, why've you stopped the car? ”she said anxiously. 

  I understood her instinctive womanly fright.

  “Don’t worry,'' I chuckled, “I am not a movie villain to harm you. I have stopped because I am very hungry.”

 “ Sorry,”she said regretfully,”I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I am a girl, I was afraid.?”

 I removed the lid of the lunch box. I put the idli and dosa into two plates and offered one to her.  “Thank you,”she tasted the idli and said. “It’s very delicious.”

   As she was eating, I stole a look at her face. She had wide eyes and a long, attractive nose. Her lips were rosy and when she drank water, her white teeth glistened. “She was born of a great sculptor’s chisel,” I thought. The numbing pain which a man experiences in the presence of a beauty incarnate, had seized me. Many girls had shaken hands with me, some of them had even given me bear hugs whenever I won a motor race. But this was the first time I was stirred by romantic sentiments. I felt an yearning to claim her forever.

  “The idli and dosa are very tasty,”she said.

  “I have an excellent cook,”I said, “she prepared them. When she leaves next month, I have to cook for myself. I should admit that I am a very bad cook. I hope a sweet angel enters into my life and makes home for me.”

  She did not reply.

  I thought that she got the intended meaning of my words. “I tend to be playful at times,”I said, breaking the silence, “hope you’re not offended.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,”she smiled, “There is nothing wrong with a bachelor when he says that he wants to get married.” I felt that a thousand roses bloomed when she smiled, flashing her beautiful teeth. 

  I was happy. I thought that she was disposed towards me favourably. 

  We finished with our lunch. I poured  steaming coffee into two cups from the flask. “Please have it,”I said, “we’re dying of chill.”

  Sipping at the coffee she choked. I patted her back to make her normal again. “Sorry,” I said, “I have taken liberties.”

  “You say or do something and then say ‘sorry’ pretending to be innocent.” she smiled, putting down the empty cup.

  We resumed our journey in the hurricane. 

  I switched on the tape recorder beside the dashboard and noisy pop music blared out.

  “Don’t you have any cassette of Carnatic music?” She asked.

  “I shook my head in the negative.”

  “Why?”she persisted, “don’t you like it?”

  “It’s not that,” I replied, shifting the gear. Classical music, whether it is Carnatic or Hindustani, is soft and arouses sweet pangs in the listener. It lures you into a void, from where you’re little inclined to come out. It is like the poetry of Shelley, beautiful but painful. But Pop music is the vigour of life.  It sweeps you off your feet in mad excitement; and I need it very much.”

  “No, you’re mistaken,”she said in defence of her argument, “have you ever heard the Kadanakutuhala Raga in Carnatic music? The Thyagaraya’s symphony - Sri Raghuvamsa Sudhambudhi Chandra…Swamy Raa…Raa '' was set to this raga. This raga literally sounds like war music. Kadanakuthuhalam means enthusiastic to jump into the battlefield. It swells your bosom with war spirits. Anyway, opinions differ.”

  I spoke praising the background music of the baby elephant walk in Hatari and the music of For A Few Dollars More and The Good, The Bad And The Ugly.

   We were silent for a while. “ I didn’t think,”she said breaking the silence,” that a playful boy like you had such a profound interior.”

  I did not reply. I drove on for about an hour regardless of the fury of nature. Suddenly I applied the brakes and brought the car to a halt. An uprooted huge tree lay across the road.

  “Oh! Bad luck,”I muttered and got down the car. “It will take at least half an hour to drag the tree to the side of the tree, which means we’ll reach Madras half an hour late.

  “No, we won't,” she shook her head in the negative,” A presentiment tells me that I will not see my parents again.”

  “Nonsense,” I said a little impatiently, “this is a race car in perfect condition and I had won Sholavaram and Himalayan motor races last with this car. Once we remove the obstruction, it is just three hours more to reach Madras. Once we get into the car, you can begin the countdown. Cheer up and lend me a helping hand.”  Like a gallant knight I tried to refresh her spirits.

  We tried to drag the tree off the road but it did not move even an inch.  While we were thus struggling with the fallen tree, she uttered a startled cry and clung to me. She pointed her finger to the bridge. The dead bodies of a mother and child clasped in each other’s arms in fear were being washed away in the flood water under the bridge.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I said to her, “I am with you.” 

  Then the biological instinct took hold of me and I held her in a tight embrace.  She also crouched into me with fear. I brushed my face against her conch shaped neck. “What is your name dear?” I whispered into her ear.

  “Prema,”she said and rested her head on my shoulder.  I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her lips ardently. Her lips were warm and sweet. There was death and destruction around us. But we were not disturbed. We soured into a glorious and romantic world which seemed to last forever. When our lips touched, time stopped for an instant and the past, the present and the future were blended into a beautiful, single whole. Caressing her back, I gently ran my fingers to the knot of her skirt in the folds of her saree. She gave a jerk and moved away as if she received a shock. “Not now,”she said., “it’s only after we were united by the holy fire.”

  I was hurt. I was angry with myself. I was angry with her also as she denied me the pleasure of sex. Yet her refusal increased my love and respect for her. There is nothing wrong in wanting to be pure till marriage. 

  A distant thunder and the crash of a tree in the fields brought us back into the real world. We did not speak to each other for a while. I walked back to the car and opened the dicky.. I took out a rope from  the dicky and uncoiled it. I fastened one end of the rope to the bumper of the car and the other end to the trunk of the tree. “Prema,” I said,”You stay away while I pull away the tree. If you sit in the car you may hit the dashboard.”

  As she stood under another tree to take cover from the rain, I started the car and ran it back and forth in a zig zag away. Gradually the big tree was giving way. After a few more pulls, the tree moved aside.

  Through the rear view mirror, I looked at Prema with a chivalrous spirit. 

  Standing under the tree, she waved at me in applause. Suddenly the tree began to shake dangerously in the strong winds. I shouted at her to move away but she could not hear me in the howling wind. I sprang out of the car and ran to her. But it was too late. The deadly tree crashed down crushing Prema under its wild branches.

  The sun hobbled onto the eastern horizon.  The fury of nature continued unabated. Prema lay dead in my arms. Tears flooded down my cheeks. I gazed at her. Death had not yet spoiled  her 

Beauty. She looked like a sleeping angel tired after tripping all the fairy worlds. The thought of love and marriage had not crossed my mind before I met her.But now I called her, Prema my love, my wife emotionally again and again. I imagined that we had been man and wife for several lives. I kissed her lips which were still warm. “Farewell my wife,” I said and laid her on the side of the road. I sat cross legged beside her.

  My grandfather was a purohit and initiated me into the mantras including those of the  apara karma at a tender age. Now those mantras welled up from my lips. I cupped the rain water into my hands and performed her last rites with all the love of a husband to the soul of his departed wife. 

  I walked to the bridge and stood over the wide parapet wall with the body of Prema in my arms. Countless bodies of humans were journeying through the flood of death to the destination they had come from. I slid her body into the waters and watched it being carried away in the stream gradually out of my sight.

  I walked back to my car listlessly and reversed it into the void.