Reminiscences of a childhood pilgrimage to Sivagiri, the eternal resting place of Sree Nārāyana Guru.
It was the morning of 31st December 1967, Kutty Vaidyan boarded the meter-gauge steam train at Thiruvalla railway station. Vaidyan’s attire was different from his usual spotless white, starch-ironed, Khadi (hand-spun) jubba and dhoti, topped by a green-bordered white Khadi shawl on the left shoulder. It was a similar dress, but it wasn’t the usual spotless white colour; it was bright yellow today. A couple of sets of his attire were dyed yellow in turmeric wash and starch-ironed for use during this annual pilgrimage to Sivagiri. Although Vaidyan could well afford to have Khadi suits tailored using new yellow textile, he made it a point to have a pair of his old suits kept aside for turmeric washing. Vaidyan was inspired by his guiding soul’s words encouraging thrift. Vaidyan accepted that it was unwise to waste money for a pair of dresses for use on a humble pilgrimage. After all, Vaidyan was just one among the many hundreds of yellow-clad pilgrims on the southbound train.
A leather portfolio wallet sandwiched tightly under his arm and heavier night luggage slung on the other shoulder, Vaidyan held on to his shawl from slipping off while finding a seat on the moving train. After dusting titbits of coal off the wooden bench on the train, Vaidyan took his preferred backward facing seat to avoid the coal dust from falling into his eyes. The train steamed towards the big town, the first big town on his mind.
At 67, Vaidyan was a silently courageous soul living up to his profession, as a medical practitioner. An introvert, who on very rare occasions lost his temper. His weakness was an occasional urge to snuff tobacco, which he more or less had control over and limited to once a day. Did he have another weakness? Yes, there was something that bloomed radiance on his face, the thought of which dissolved the wrinkles off his forehead. His greatest weakness was an opportunity he yearned for these days, the time out of his profession and daily chores, the prized time he got to be with his grandchildren. It was the ‘moment-in-time’ he treasured. It is the same thought that now brought a passing smile on his face. The thought of the big town ahead, Quilon and its train station.
Three schoolboys, who were due to join Vaidyan on the train, loitered the platform of Quilon station, waiting for the train. Off from school for three weeks now, they looked forward to the two-day trip. The trip with Grandfather would be interesting. He would buy them their favourite foods from the teashops. He would tolerate the relentless acts of mischief they were up to. He would then come home to spend the weekend in Quilon. To top it all, never forgetting the pocket monies, literally slipped it into their pockets in the course of his parting hug.
The waiting boys, as usual, found reasons to dig at each other, on how well each one was prepared for the pilgrimage. They discussed their makeshift yellow chequered and yellowish dresses that were managed closest to what was traditionally required. The older one often reminding the younger ones not to grin and expose their matching yellow teeth!
The steam engine clamoured onto the platform. The thronging pilgrims began to flow towards the train’s doors. The younger boys stood up on the platform benches hoping that Grandfather might easily spot them. It took a while for the train to come to a halt. By then most of the healthier pilgrims had boarded the train, while the weaker ones were still scrambling to board.
Giving up his seat on the train, Vaidyan struggled to get off the train against the boarding crowd. He paced half the length of the platform and located the boys, who were relieved to see him from afar. Then it was a search for space to get back on the train. After a frantic rummage around, Vaidyan managed to push the boys on board and barely squeeze in with them, into the narrow passage between the two toilet doors, before the train moved on.
The eldest boy likened the train to a “can of sardines”. His statement led to an argument with the younger ones who said it was more apt to call it a “string of sausages”, as it was metaphoric of jam-packed connected compartments! With the train now moving faster and a breeze starting to flow, the relieved Vaidyan amusingly watched the kids argue in their English language. He humbly enquired the reason for the heated discussion. On realising the substance of the debate, Vaidyan took the opportunity to say, “Ha, you guys can think and talk only of beef and pork. This is the reason I don’t like to visit your house on my way to Sivagiri, it does not suit my fasting habits to stay where ‘big’ meat is cooked!” The boys sheepishly smiled at Vaidyan, who held back his smirk to imply the seriousness of his protest.
After an exhausting journey, the train came to a halt at Varkala station. Vaidyan and the boys got off the train. They headed on foot for a house nearby. Vaidyan’s friends and acquaintances, some of who had camped there for over two nights now, joined the group. The focal topic of discussion was the newly built mausoleum. Built out of devotion and the generosity of a gentleman named M.P. Moothedath, who sponsored its construction. The marble statue of Sree Narayana Guru to be installed in the mausoleum was crafted in Banares (Varanasi) and most recently taken to Sivagiri by procession, stopping at various towns including Quilon. The boys were now eager to catch a glimpse of the new mausoleum. Most of the posters on the walls had the picture of the mausoleum. One of the boys said, “It looks like a wedding cake!”
After light lunch, Vaidyan’s group moved on foot towards Sivagiri. Their plan was to reach the hilltop, watch the sunset from there and then to spend the night in the precincts of the mausoleum, until daybreak. Some of Vaidyan’s older friends discussed how enchanting it was to watch the sunset from the base of the mausoleum atop the hill.
As they turned the corner of the road, the mausoleum was clearly visible from afar. The off-white mausoleum initially appeared small from the distance. As the group approached the hill, the mausoleum appeared to grow bigger and bigger, till it stood towering the hillock, rising from the ground below covered with low lying cashew trees. The group moved closer to mausoleum and settled under the shade of a large cashew tree.
The youngest grandson asked Vaidyan, “Acha (Grandpa), why do they say that it is gorgeous to watch the sunset from here?” After being lost in thought for a moment, Vaidyan emotionally remarked, “There can be no sunset more gorgeous than the one on this hill; for here lay the sun that brought light into our lives.”
Sujit Sivanand
31 December 2004
A leather portfolio wallet sandwiched tightly under his arm and heavier night luggage slung on the other shoulder, Vaidyan held on to his shawl from slipping off while finding a seat on the moving train. After dusting titbits of coal off the wooden bench on the train, Vaidyan took his preferred backward facing seat to avoid the coal dust from falling into his eyes. The train steamed towards the big town, the first big town on his mind.
At 67, Vaidyan was a silently courageous soul living up to his profession, as a medical practitioner. An introvert, who on very rare occasions lost his temper. His weakness was an occasional urge to snuff tobacco, which he more or less had control over and limited to once a day. Did he have another weakness? Yes, there was something that bloomed radiance on his face, the thought of which dissolved the wrinkles off his forehead. His greatest weakness was an opportunity he yearned for these days, the time out of his profession and daily chores, the prized time he got to be with his grandchildren. It was the ‘moment-in-time’ he treasured. It is the same thought that now brought a passing smile on his face. The thought of the big town ahead, Quilon and its train station.
Three schoolboys, who were due to join Vaidyan on the train, loitered the platform of Quilon station, waiting for the train. Off from school for three weeks now, they looked forward to the two-day trip. The trip with Grandfather would be interesting. He would buy them their favourite foods from the teashops. He would tolerate the relentless acts of mischief they were up to. He would then come home to spend the weekend in Quilon. To top it all, never forgetting the pocket monies, literally slipped it into their pockets in the course of his parting hug.
The waiting boys, as usual, found reasons to dig at each other, on how well each one was prepared for the pilgrimage. They discussed their makeshift yellow chequered and yellowish dresses that were managed closest to what was traditionally required. The older one often reminding the younger ones not to grin and expose their matching yellow teeth!
The steam engine clamoured onto the platform. The thronging pilgrims began to flow towards the train’s doors. The younger boys stood up on the platform benches hoping that Grandfather might easily spot them. It took a while for the train to come to a halt. By then most of the healthier pilgrims had boarded the train, while the weaker ones were still scrambling to board.
Giving up his seat on the train, Vaidyan struggled to get off the train against the boarding crowd. He paced half the length of the platform and located the boys, who were relieved to see him from afar. Then it was a search for space to get back on the train. After a frantic rummage around, Vaidyan managed to push the boys on board and barely squeeze in with them, into the narrow passage between the two toilet doors, before the train moved on.
The eldest boy likened the train to a “can of sardines”. His statement led to an argument with the younger ones who said it was more apt to call it a “string of sausages”, as it was metaphoric of jam-packed connected compartments! With the train now moving faster and a breeze starting to flow, the relieved Vaidyan amusingly watched the kids argue in their English language. He humbly enquired the reason for the heated discussion. On realising the substance of the debate, Vaidyan took the opportunity to say, “Ha, you guys can think and talk only of beef and pork. This is the reason I don’t like to visit your house on my way to Sivagiri, it does not suit my fasting habits to stay where ‘big’ meat is cooked!” The boys sheepishly smiled at Vaidyan, who held back his smirk to imply the seriousness of his protest.
After an exhausting journey, the train came to a halt at Varkala station. Vaidyan and the boys got off the train. They headed on foot for a house nearby. Vaidyan’s friends and acquaintances, some of who had camped there for over two nights now, joined the group. The focal topic of discussion was the newly built mausoleum. Built out of devotion and the generosity of a gentleman named M.P. Moothedath, who sponsored its construction. The marble statue of Sree Narayana Guru to be installed in the mausoleum was crafted in Banares (Varanasi) and most recently taken to Sivagiri by procession, stopping at various towns including Quilon. The boys were now eager to catch a glimpse of the new mausoleum. Most of the posters on the walls had the picture of the mausoleum. One of the boys said, “It looks like a wedding cake!”
After light lunch, Vaidyan’s group moved on foot towards Sivagiri. Their plan was to reach the hilltop, watch the sunset from there and then to spend the night in the precincts of the mausoleum, until daybreak. Some of Vaidyan’s older friends discussed how enchanting it was to watch the sunset from the base of the mausoleum atop the hill.
As they turned the corner of the road, the mausoleum was clearly visible from afar. The off-white mausoleum initially appeared small from the distance. As the group approached the hill, the mausoleum appeared to grow bigger and bigger, till it stood towering the hillock, rising from the ground below covered with low lying cashew trees. The group moved closer to mausoleum and settled under the shade of a large cashew tree.The youngest grandson asked Vaidyan, “Acha (Grandpa), why do they say that it is gorgeous to watch the sunset from here?” After being lost in thought for a moment, Vaidyan emotionally remarked, “There can be no sunset more gorgeous than the one on this hill; for here lay the sun that brought light into our lives.”
Sujit Sivanand
31 December 2004
Excellent blogs written with pristine love for the GURU. A rich heritage of boundless devotion to the second BUDDHA is revealed.
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