TIRUNELLI

      A  shrill sound tore through the darkness and shook me up.  It took me sometime to realise that it was the alarm clock that broke my deep slumber.   I had set it at 5 O’ clock to wake me up.  It was  November  5th, the day we would be going to Thirunelli in Wynad for immersing the ashes of my parents in the Papanasini.   It was at Papanasini  where Lord Rama, who after conquering Ravana’s army in Sri Lanka, had offered obsequies for all those persons killed in the battle.

I washed my face , brushed my teeth, and sat down at the table for my usual morning tea.

“No tea till will be served until you’ve had your bath.”  It was  my wife Vidya.   “You’ve to observe certain rituals on this day”, she added.  “Damn it”, I muttered and walked to the bath room.  The shower damped my ill-mood.   Later when I was leisurely running the comb through the sparce hairs that remained on my shining pate faithfully after all these years, I was shocked to see a disiccated man staring at me from the mirror. The realisation that I had become old hit me like a wet towel.  The bald head accentuated the age .  Presently Vidya came  with a cup of hot green tea.   It bolstered my sagging morale.   While sipping the tea, I realised that one year had gone by since my parents had died.   How quickly time moves!   

Indeed I missed them terribly.   For sometime I just sat there unable to shake off the loss.  Then I got up, resolutely.   I could not mourn anymore.  I had to collect the ashes  of my parents’ remains from my sister’s house.  Her house was  close by.  There I found  all my brothers and sister waiting for me - since I was  the eldest.  Being the eldest, I had to observes some rites.   I  removed my  shirt, and wearing only a dhothi, I trodded to the nearby pond inside our compound.   The water  was cold. It soothed my inner turmoil.  I immersed myself three times, and stepped out, without drying myself.  In the meantime,  my sister had lit the traditional lamp, ‘Nilavilakku’,  near the spot where we had buried the ashes in earthern pots one year ago.   A strange pang of grief gripped me as I began to dig them out with my bare hands.

My brothers also joined me in removing the earth.  My sister, her husband, and the wives of  all my brothers watched us,  chanting prayers.   Finally we located the pots.  They were safe.  The pots were covered with a crimson silk cloth, and wrapped with polythene sheets.   I cleaned off the mud from the pots  and kept them in front of the ‘nilavilakku’ .

All were standing silently, their eyes misty.  This was the only remnants of my parents!  In a few hours, this would also be dissolved in water!

My father and mother had lived together happily for a long sixty years, and died within the span of  ninety days.  Indeed, even in death, they were together.  So we decided that the ashes would also be immersed together. 

I covered them in another red cloth, decorating it with white jasmine flowers having good frageance. Then we lighted some agarbathy as last tribute to them, and prayed silently to give their soul peace.

It was time to leave.  My sister stood guard as we  left for getting properly dressed.  We did not wish to leave the pots unattended.   A few minutes later, we returned, and put the pots in a newly purchased bag.   By that time, the rented tempo-traveller had come.   All four brothers, their wives, our sister and her husband scrambled  into the tempo,  and the exactly at 7 am the vehicle surged forward on its way to Tirunelli.

Inside the vehicle, I kept the bag containing the ashes right on my lap, and never let it down any where. Whenever we stopped for food, one of us would remain  with the bag.  I had a strange feeling that our parents were accompanying us through out our pilgrimage.

I even imagined what they would be talking about.  When we stopped somewhere for food, my mother might be saying, ”we have reached Trichur, our children  have gone for breakfast.  I am very sad…we have to leave them for ever in few hours…”   Such thoughts turned me maudlin.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  Strangely no one spoke much. It was said that mother was a string and sons and daughters were mere beads attached to it.  When the string snaped, the beads would fall apart.  But by their grace, we were still together; not disjointed.

By about 4 p, we reached the base of the big mountain from were the ghat road began.  The climb was arduous.    The van pitched up slowly.  On either side of the road, there were thick forests with dark abysses. A false move, and we would all be dead.    

Our driver told us that we had to cross the forest before the darkness fell.  Here, wild elephants roamed freely.  I craned my head to see whether I could spot an elephant somewhere.   The  faeces  on the road indicated their presence.  A few monkeys, dangling over the treetops, jeered at us, hoping to get some food.  Presently we reached the town called  Kalpetta, the district headquarters of Wynad. We continued our journey  from there to Mananthavadi,  and entered another thick forest.     For miles, there was no sign of habitation.  By 6 pm, darkness had descended everywhere.  There was slight drizzling, and the climate turned frosty.  Tiny hamlets appeared in the midst of the jungle.  Suddenly the temple came to our view.  

  Papanasini at Tirunelli is beneath the Brahmagiri hill, about seventy miles from Calicut. This place was known as Banares of South.   It was believed that Lord Brahma himself had installed the idol of Lord Vishnu, the presiding deity of the temple.

The temple rested on a hillock.  From there a steep flight of step lead to the Papanasini, which literally meant freedom from all sins.  It was believed that the rivers of this place would wash away the sins of all mortals, dead or alive.

There were a few shops. The guest  house, run by the temple authorities, where we had booked five double rooms,  had bare minimum convenience.  There was no electricity, thanks  to incessant  rain.  A man whom we befriended at the temple, became our guide.  He explained that the electricity-men  could not go to the inner forest to locate the trouble due to the rain.  The lights that  we were  seeing was from a generator, which would be switched off at 10 p.m, and we had to depend solely on candle lights.   He did not forget to warn us not to move out in the night because  elephants could descend from the hills, and trample around.   He, however,  offered his help in immersing the ashes, and completing the rituals.  We were new to this place, and so we decided to engage him.  He promised to return by 5.45 a.m, and left.  And we prepared ourselves to take rest.  The darkness and the quietness were quite disarming. From  somewhere the water giggling through the valley could be heard faintly. Although I was tired out by the long journey, sleep did not come easily.

Sharp at 5. 45 am he knocked at our door.  We collected the pots and followed him.  He took us through a narrow cobbled lane through the forest where one had to walk behind the other in a row.   Different species of birds made different, strange sounds.  I tried to identify the birds from their beckoning.  I could  count more than 11 types.   Apart from  the singing of birds, the only sound was the susurrant flow of water.   Finally we reached the specified spot.   A wonderful  stream in the middle of the forest.  On either side there were thick forest.  The water flowed over  smooth round balls of  rocks which rolled slowly in the water. The water  looked clean and pure.  It had a milky appearance due to its fast movement.  The guide asked us to stand near the stream and pray for the departed souls before opening the pot and emptying the contents into the flowing water.   The ashes and pieces of bones  of our dear parents disappeared so fast  as though to reach the heaven quickly.  Finally, the earthern pot was crushed  and thrown into the water.  The clothes that covered the pot were deposited into a  concreate waste bin  that was kept on the shore.  It took only a few minutes to complete the obesequies.

With heavy heart, we returned to the  guesthouse, and had another bath.     After praying at the temple,  we climbed the hill to the place from where the stream orginated.  Treading slowly through the forest, we reached an upstream of the same stream in which we had immersed the ashes.  There, under the guidance of a priest, some mantras were recited.  When the expiatory rites of one batch was over, the next family squated before the priest.   Before beginning the rituals, we were asked to  take a dip in the stream, perhaps to cleanse ourselves.  A pond was formed in the middle of the stream with the help of a bund where we were directed to take plunge, and recite a short prayer.   The water was icy cold. I was shivering and could not utter a single word because of the clattering teeth.

I had never taken a bath in such an icy water before!

After the bath, we felt refreshed, and presented ourselves in our wet clothes before the preist.  He directed us to stand in the stream  with folded hands.  The water was only one or two feet deep.  In front of us there was a big flat rock.  As directed by him, we did different rites on the flat rock, which lasted for about 10 minutes.  When at last we clambered over , our legs were numb,  as though there were no limbs below the knee.    

It was only when we began to climb down to the guest house that we could observe the  the beauty of the nature.  Many undulating hills, various  types of trees,  strange looking birds, the milky water,  tiny rivulets…  The  return of the dead to the nature was complete.

We reached the bottom of the hill.  Once again we prayed at the temple.  I felt as though we had severed all connection with the dead.  Was it a tear that glistened on my eyes as I returned from the temple?   I was not sure.

We had to return to our lives.  As the tempo van crackled to life, and began to move forward on its return journey at 10 30 am, we mumbled a silent prayer:

Goodbye father! Goodbye mother!  We shall not forget you. Thanks for everything you’ve done for us. Thank you! Thank you!