Kim by Rudyard Kipling - An annotated guide to the magic of Kipling and India - Part 1

"Oh ye who tread the Narrow Way

By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day,

Be gentle when the heathen pray

To Buddha at Kamakura!"

And, with this most splendid stanza, thus, does start the most amazing, splendid and magical book - KIM - by Rudyard Kipling. For all those who have read, re-read and read and re-read KIM again and again and again, and once again, these lines will forever remain etched in their memory. Kipling uses three stanzas in different chapters to summon the beginning, and they come from a rather very indistinct and not-as-usual-remarkable poems that he has written. This one is from 'Buddha at Kamakura' written sometime in 1892. 

The poem is thus - 

Buddha at Kamakura (1892)

‘And there is a Japanese idol at Kamakura.’

O ye who tread the Narrow Way 

By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day, 

Be gentle when ‘the heathen’ pray 

To Buddha at Kamakura!

To Him the Way, the Law, apart, 

Whom Maya held beneath her heart, 

Ananda’s Lord, the Bodhisat, 

The Buddha of Kamakura.

For though He neither burns nor sees, 

Nor hears ye thank your Deities, 

Ye have not sinned with such as these, 

His children at Kamakura,

Yet spare us still the Western joke 

When joss-sticks turn to scented smoke 

The little sins of little folk 

That worship at Kamakura—

The grey-robed, gay-sashed butterflies 

That flit beneath the Master’s eyes. 

He is beyond the Mysteries 

But loves them at Kamakura.

And whoso will, from Pride released, 

Contemning neither creed nor priest, 

May feel the Soul of all the East 

About him at Kamakura.

Yea, every tale Ananda heard, 

Of birth as fish or beast or bird, 

While yet in lives the Master stirred, 

The warm wind brings Kamakura.

Till drowsy eyelids seem to see 

A-flower ’neath her golden htee 

The Shwe-Dagon flare easterly 

From Burma to Kamakura,

And down the loaded air there comes 

The thunder of Thibetan drums, 

And droned—‘Om mane padme hum’s’

A world’s-width from Kamakura.

Yet Brahmans rule Benares still, 

Buddh-Gaya’s ruins pit the hill, 

And beef-fed zealots threaten ill 

To Buddha and Kamakura.

A tourist-show, a legend told, 

A rusting bulk of bronze and gold, 

So much, and scarce so much, ye hold 

The meaning of Kamakura?

But when the morning prayer is prayed, 

Think, ere ye pass to strife and trade, 

Is God in human image made 

No nearer than Kamakura?

Rudyard Kipling is known to have visited Japan during 1889 and later in 1892. There is considerable writing about Japan and it is available as a separate compilation. The poem - 'Buddha at Kamakura' - was first published in the New York Sun and the Lahore Civil and Military News in July 1892. And, as said earlier, three of the stanzas in this poem appear as chapter headings in Kim, published in 1901.  Kipling had worked for nearly seven years in India, especially in Mumbai, and also in the Times of India, as a journalist. He left India, this time, permanently, on 9 March 1889, and planned to journey on a voyage to London, though, via the Far East and South East Asia. He journeyed through Rangoon, Penang, Singapore and Hong Kong before reaching Nagasaki on 15 April 1889.

While in Japan, Kipling visited several places, including Kamakura, and brought about this most remarkable poem about the Amitabha Buddha.

Speech of the sacred birds (Part 1) - Pittala Maata - Bird stories from the Pakshopanishad

From ancient texts in stories that have been lost in the passage of time, the first of the early stories of birds and people of India - from the "Pakshopanishad" - the story known earlier as the "Pittala-maata"

भालपीलस्यामलस्य: नागशान्तीनदितीरे कासीसंगमम्ध्येह: |

शिवविष्णुकृष्णस्य: गंगानदितीरे ब्रह्मदत्त राजसमयेह: ||

Once upon a time, long long ago, in a place far far away, as all good stories say, near the very ancient kingdom of Kasi, along the mighty river Ganges, were the villages of Balapila and Syamala. These villages were about ten kilometers away from each other, but were on either bank of the Ganges. The Naga River flowed near the village of Balapila and met the Ganges as a tributary about four kilometers southwards. The Shanta River flowed near the village of Syamala and met the Ganges as a tributar about fifteen kilometers eastwards of the Naga River.

Considering the sacred aspects of the confluence of the rivers Naga and Shanta with the Ganges, the people from many years earlier, had constructed temples to the gods, and the villagers continued to protect these places. The temple at the confluence of the Naga river was to Shiva and the temple at meeting point of the Shanta river with the Ganges was to Vishnu. There were some large island areas within the Ganges river between the villages of Balapila and Syamala, and the largest island had a temple to Krishna.

This story took place in the rule of the very ancient King Brahmadatta, when he ruled the kingdom of Kasi. The Most Enlightened One was born as a merchant during the rule of the wise king. Caravans of more than 500 carts would travel east and west, and the Most Enlightened One would also travel with these carts.

Ancient villages of Balapila and Shyamala along the Ganges River

In this ancient village of Balapila, lived the merchant Nagasesha and his wife, Shaktipriya. Their only son, Nagasayana, was loved by one and all in the village. He was known to be helpful, and honest and sincere. He never hesitated to help his neighbours and travelers alike. He was unable to learn any trade and this saddened his parents, for they felt, that it was tragic that such a good and honest boy could not set up a trade of his own, and could not help his father in the family's business. The boy loved to sit near the jetty crossing on the Naga river, where merchant carts would travel along the East-West road from the holy Sangam to the city kingdom of Kasi. He would help the merchants and their people with loading and unloading goods on the jetty boats and would also help the buffaloes and oxen in the crossing.

The merchants knew about Nagasayana and they also knew the merchant Nagasesha. Thus, they would always reward Nagasayana with some money or goods or food items in return for his help. His mother, Shaktipriya was happy and grateful that though her son could not learn a trade, the gods had blessing him with a pleasant and helpful attitude and this allowed him to continually earn something by helping the merchants in their jetty crossing.

The ancient jetty crossing on the Naga river

One of the merchants had rewarded Nagasayana with a caged bird, a hill-myna from the forests of the south. There had been two birds in the cage, and the merchant had hoped to sell them at Kasi, and one of the birds had died due to some illness and he feared that the other bird could perhaps die soon. Not wanting to carry it with him, he gave it away to Nagasayana. The boy was extremely happy with this unexpected gift and he brought it home, and his mother, equally pleased, hung it near the window of their house.

The merchant Nagasesha and his wife and son were quite happy with the hill-myna, for it sang beautifully, through the day, and improved in its health and became stronger. Sometimes the hill-myna would repeat the songs that Shaktipriya would sing, and at other times, the bird would clearly repeat the words of Nagasesha or Nagasayana. At other times, the bird would keep singing long plaintive songs, very haunting, and this would sadden the merchant Nagasesha.

The hill-myna, singing his haunting song

The hill-myna would sing in an extremely haunting tone, as though telling or retelling an important story, and would keep looking at the merchant Nagasesha with very sad eyes. He began to feel that the hill-myna was trying to tell him of some important event or story. It so began to pass that the merchant would come home to have his lunch or dinner with his wife, Shaktipriya and his son, and the hill-myna would start singing his lonesome song, looking straight at Nagasesha's eyes.

"The lonely bird was surely trying to tell me something," said Nagasesha to his wife and son, "There must be a sad story or an important story that I must know about. The bird keeps looking only at me when he sings, and he does sing for quite a long amount of time. He is trying to tell me something. It seems quite important, for the bird seems to become sadder and sadder, each time he sings his song."

"I would dearly love to hear the song, and I would be most happy when I know the story that the bird wants to tell me," continued Nagasesha, and asked of his son, "Go, my son, go out into the forests, where the great sages stay, and visit their asramas, and find out if someone out there knows of the language of the birds, and if he would teach you or permit you to know of the knowledge."

Hearing his father's commands, Nagasayana, left his house and went to meet Muni Nagabhushana's daughter, who also lived in the village of Balapila. The Vaidya Kittamutti, married to Muni Nagabhushana's daughter, had come from the Kingdom of Seri and settled in the village. The fame of the eye-physician had traveled to many distant places in the Kigndom of Kasi and neighboring kingdoms. Patients came to the village of Balapila with their ailments and were taken care by the daughter of muni Nagabhushana.

Nagasayana knew of the fame of the muni Nagabhushana, son of the great muni Rangabhashya, and that they were at the Munisangama Ashrama, where the three important rivers came to meet each other, the Ganges and Yamuna, and the sacred and invisible Saraswati. It would be a long journey, but Nagasayana was ready to travel to the great meeting place of the big rivers, and ask from the muni Nagabhushana if one could learn the language of the birds.

Umadevi, daughter of the muni Nagabhushana, was affectionate to Nagasayana, considering him as the son of her maternal uncle and aunt, and welcomed the young boy to the house of the Vaidya Kittamutti. Serving him with hot food, as she was known to do so, to anyone that came to her house, she heard from the boy about his desire to go to the Munisangama Ashrama and learn from her father, the muni Nagabhushana. Totally delighted, she packed up delicacies to send to her father and grandfather, rolls of banana-tree-twine that she had extracted and kept aside to send to the ashram, and gave some money to the young boy, Nagasayana, for his expenses on the journey. She was sure that he would not have sufficient money to spend on his necessities in the long journey.

Banana Twine, useful in earlier days for wrapping parchments

Nagasayana was very happy. He knew that Umadevi had been clever and had provided him with enough gifts for her father and grandfather to make them pleased enough to accept him into the ashrama. He rushed to the jetty on the Naga River, near the village of Balapila and sure enough, he found a boat getting ready to travel back down the River and upstream along the Ganges to the great Sangam, which was one of the most important port cities in those days. The boat owner knew Nagasayana and was also familiar with the great Munisangama Ashrama. He agreed to take Nagasayana to the Sangam, and asked for a payment of lunch at his house, on his return trip.

This was the first time that Nagasayana was traveling on the great river, that was their entire world, the only world that they knew, at the villages of Balapila and Syamala. He had only traveled between the two villages, for attending marriages and religious programmes. He had never gone beyond the 15 km distance between the two villages. This was the first time that he was traveling towards the great Himalayas and towards the meeting place of the three great rivers. 'How could an entire river be invisible?' he thought, telling himself that he would surely see the invisible River Saraswati. Everyone at the village of Balapila had always told him that he was the smart boy, and sure, he would show the world.

Ancient sailboats on the River Ganges

The journey took about four days since they had run into a rainstorm, and an entire day without any wind to lend them strength and power to sail upstream the mighty river. The journey usually took about two days, but Nagasayana was not one to object. Each situation was a tremendous experience for him and he enjoyed every moment of it. Whether it was to rest and hide from the rainstorm or if it was to wait impatiently, in mid-stream, with anchor tied to a large tree stump near a small island. It was hot out there, even if the previous day had seen non-stop rainfall. They slept on the boat, waiting for the wind to lift them, and allow them to go upstream, fighting against the mighty current of the great river.

The wind returned, and never stopped, all the way until they reached the great place of Sangam. It was about 3 am or thereabouts when the wind started pushing at the sail, and two men jumped out of the boat to untie the anchor from the tree stump. The boat began moving swiftly within that time, making it almost difficult for the two men to return. Everyone was laughing at the incident, and Nagasayana thrilled at the bonding among everyone on the boat. He had never been part of such an experience and it seemed like there was much to learn while growing up, and out of the small village that he had been in, over these many years.

Sailing on the Ganges in the early dawn hours

They kept moving swiftly upstream and it seemed almost like they were being pulled up by the great Himalayas themselves, for the Ganges appeared very calm and peaceful in the early dawn, under the reflection of a very large moon. The river never seemed to be moving, and yet, Nagasayana knew from his own experience at Balapila, that the current would be very strong, going downstream. The strong wind that took them upstream never seemed to be present. He could not feel the wind in that night of the early dawn hours, and yet, the sail filled out, and the man at the rudder had a tough time maintaining a proper course.

The sun had come out, and it was beginning to be painfully hot, thought it was not noon, when the boat came in to dock at the jetties at Sangam. The village of Balapila had two jetties on the Naga River and two more on the Ganges, and these four had seemed like an achievement and tremendous progress in the region. But, here at Sangam, Nagasayana kept looking and kept counting the jetties. There seemed to be more than a hundred and that would be the one side that he was coming in to. There were three banks, at Sangam, of the Ganges and the Yamuna, and there could be more than 300 jetties, he felt. There were boats at every jetty and people.

Nearer to Sangam, in the early morning hours.

'Wow!' thought Nagasayana. People. There were simply too many people here, and too many different types of people. The entire village of Balapila could come here and be lost in 2-3 jetties, he told himself. The owner of the boat pointed out a group of four sadhus, standing near a small Hanuman temple, and said, "See, there, those four sadhus... they are from the Munisangama Ashrama. See the way they dress, and the manner in which they are different from other sadhus. Everyone is different here, boy, except the crowd seems to make them all look similar. If you see carefully, you would learn. Every person is different."

Nagasayana thanked the owner of the boat and got out on the jetty and went up to the sadhus from the Munisangama Ashrama. They were pleased to know that he had come from the village of Balapila and asked him to wait near the Hanuman temple while they completed their tasks at the river. Later, as noon approached, they shared their food with Nagasayana, and allowed him to purchase some curd and raw rice with some money that he had. An old lady approached them, with a cooking pot, asking if she could cook lunch for them, and the sadhus agreed. She set up the cooking pot, and took the vegetables, rice and lentils from the sadhus, and went about moving around in the crowd, going around the shanties. She kept making small purchases, accurate amounts of food material that she wanted and allowed the rice to cook, in the meantime.

Very soon, she had got their lunch organised, and with the curd that Nagasayana had purchased, the group had a good meal. The owner of the boat had seen it happen, and came up at the right moment and shared some of his food with them. The old woman seemed to know him, and silently placed an additional place for him. The sadhus were also on familiar terms with the owner of the boat. It seemed very puzzling to Nagasayana, for in this great hustle and bustle of people at Sangam, where everyone seemed to be faceless, people knew each other, greeted one another and shared their food. This was so very unlike his village, where one met others only during special days. Here, everything and everyone melted together.

Path to the ashram

After their lunch, the sadhus returned to the Munisangama Ashrama with Nagasayana. They had to walk out of the numerous settlements around the Sangam and travel through a forested path, climbing into the lower Himalaya mountains. Nagasayana had never seen the Himalayas and had not seen such tall mountains. Very soon, he began to feel the cold and chill and wondered at the ability of the sadhus to adjust to the change, without having any need for warm clothes.

Muni Nagabhushana was surprised to see Nagasayana at the Ashram. Worried about his daughter, he asked if there was any problem at the village of Balapila. Muni Shantarama, his brother, and the great Muni Rangabhashyama were also happy to know of Nagasayana's visit to the Ashram. It was very rare that someone from the villages of Balapila or Syamala ever came to stay at the Ashram. Most villagers were busy with their householder duties and never seemed to seek the Ashram way of life. Thus, that night, in the hut of the great Muni Rangabhashyama, in the presence of Muni Nagabhushana and the Muni Shantarama, the story of the hill-myna, its sad song and Nagasesha's desire to know of the song was explained by Nagasayana.

The three great sages heard him out quietly and seemed to ponder over the request. 'Can you help me understand the speech of the birds? I have to go back and tell my father about the sad song of the hill myna' Nagasayana had told them. The great muni Rangabhashyama seemed amused about it. He was smiling. His younger son, Muni Shantarama, was actually laughing and shaking in mirth. What did they find funny about the request, thought Nagasayana. It was an entirely legitimate request. His father was curious about the sad song of the hill myna and wanted to know what did the bird sing about? How was it supposed to be  complicated or something to be laughed at?

The great muni Rangabhashyama instructed Muni Nagabhushana to teach Nagasayana the art of understanding the speech of the birds if the birds were willing to open up the secret. The Muni Nagabhushana agreed with the great muni and asked Nagasayana to accompany him to the hut where he would be staying while at the Munisangama Ashrama. He was being given a hut at the outskirts of the ashram since he was not an ordained sadhu. He would have to stay with the other helpers and visitors to the Ashram, at a small scattered hamlet outside the village.

Nagasayana's hut outside the Munisangama Ashram

On the morrow, the Muni Nagabhushana called out for Nagasayana, except it did not seem like morning, so much as it was still dark, and probably the early dawn. "Go, go out in the forests in this early dawn hours, and seek a bird that would help you, and will allow you to learn the speech of birds. This is a sacred place, for, this is Munisangama Ashrama. Here, the birds, animals, insects and plants have magical powers. They can understand you. But, it depends on you, if you can understand them. There is a way to learn these aspects, and it only the teacher who can decide if you are ready. Go, and be in the forests for the entire day."

Nagasayana was worried. It was dark out there. The forests were inside the deep valleys of the Himalayas or they were in the high craggy cliffs that had to be climbed. The forests nearby were dense and dark, and to make it worse, he had never gone roaming in forests, all by himself, ever before. The Muni Nagabhushana seemed to understand his fears, and said, "Do not worry. Have I not told you, that this is Munisangama Ashrama. You have nothing to fear. I know, coming from the river villages of Balapila and Syamala, this forest will look frightening. I had also been frightened when I had come here as a kid. There is nothing to fear out there. Go, with courage."

He stepped out of the hut and began to walk into the forest. It was silent and dark. Dawn had not begun. How does one search for birds in such a place, he wondered. Suddenly, he came upon an opening in the canopy, and stood at the edge of a small pond. There was a large stone ledge, and Nagasayana decided to sit and wait it out, for the break of dawn. As he sat there, he realised that there was no silence out here. There were those small sounds, very low toned chirps, low volume calls, short and sharp calls, just a small chirp, or a beep, but the calls seemed to come from all around. As he sat, silently, on the stone ledge, deep inside the forests of the Himalayas, at the edge of the small pond, Nagasayana realised, that, the forest was not silent at all. There seemed to be quite a bit going on.

The forests around the Munisangama Ashrama, in the Himalayas

There were sounds, all over the place, deep inside the forests, and the sounds felt like they belonged totally to the forest. Birds were moving about and were calling out to their companions, or announcing their presence or warning other birds of predators that were made out. Nagasayana could not see anything in the darkness. He could only make out the silhouettes of the mountains, and look for the dawn sky lit up by the moon, and the distant glimmer of dawn in a deep valley towards the East. He realised that by looking up in the sky and picking up on the light, he was unable to make out the deeper recesses of the forests. He sat near the small pond, and closed his eyes, and tried to use only his ears and catch the sounds of the forest.

He knew some of the birds from his village area and from near the Ganges. He could hear the teetiri (Redwattled Lapwing), the dhoban (Wagtails) and the pandubbi (Little Grebe) near the pond waters, since he was seated nearby. The pandubbi was not making the usual musical calls, but was calling out in sharp clicking sounds, much like when he heard them near his village when the boys would go to disturb the waterbirds' nesting areas in the floating weeds. There must be other animals and birds moving about, he thought, for the pandubbi to keep calling out repeatedly.

He could make out a raat-ka-bagla (Night Heron) and several other bagla (herons and egrets) on the trees overhanging above the pond waters. There could be more raat-ka-bagla nearby for they were calling out, in low volume, staying in contact with one another. The andha bagla (Pond Heron) was also probably in that bunch of trees, but Nagasayana could not make out. The raat-ka-bagla was flying out silently over the pond waters, perching on the trees on the other side of the pond, and returning after a while. He knew their flight, having seen them cross the Naga River at the village of Balapila, during the night hours.

Soon enough, it was dawn, and the forest erupted in sound and light. There seemed to be birds everywhere. Teetar (partridges) and bater (quail) seemed to be calling from all around the forest. It sounded like there were at least a million of them, well hidden. Their calls caused the mor (peafowl) to start sounding off, in long resonating calls, drowning the sounds of the forest. Immediately, alternating with the calls of teetar, bater and mor, the jungli murghi (jungle fowl and spurfowl) began calling out. The small birds in the trees started their songs and it was like a concert that had gone terribly wrong in symphony, but was splendid in music, rhythm and song.

The redwattled lapwing in the pre-dawn hours at the 

forests around Munisangama ashrama

Continued - Part 2 - http://shtories-shtuff.blogspot.in/2013/01/speech-of-sacred-birds-part-2-pittala.html

the great unknown swami at Krishna's Okha

the great unknown swami. He will continue to stay unknown, I hope. He is from somewhere, you know. And, he keeps traveling, all the time. I get to know from others that he had just passed by a certain place, and I hope to meet up with him ahead, along the road, somewhere, but he has moved on to some other place. But, at each place, with someone, he leaves behind his memories, and a story. I have been collecting these stories, wherever I hear about him, and I hope you will love them, as much as I do.

This is a story that I heard about the great unknown swami while I was waiting to cross over from Dwarka to Okha-Bet, the island of Krishna. One of the most magical pilgrimage places of India, Dwarka, is well known after Krishna and his great kingdom. But, for the locals, Dwarka is meant to have been "Krishna's office" and they claim that he actually lived at the island of Okha. As a boatman explained, Krishna 'commuted' daily, between the island of Okha and the city of Dwarka. I was waiting with many others to board a boat and cross over to Okha-bet from Okha, near Dwarka in Gujarat. It had been raining heavily and the local authorities had stopped the boats from going across. I had waited since almost dawn, hoping to cross over in the early hours to allow me to enjoy a day-long visit to Krishna's temples at Okha-bet. The crowd of pilgrims, tourists, traders and local residents wanting to cross over to Okha-bet was growing, and I found a small tea-stall near the jetty to sit through the day. There were others who sat with me all through the day, waiting for the rain to break up and allow the boats to cross over.

There were a number of tea shops within the parking area. The tea shops comprised a few boxes, a big umbrella or a tarpaulin pulled out from the compound wall and in one instance, being operated from a matador van. I had picked for myself, a tea shop that was right up at the jetty, and I could see the creek waters swirling up in spate from the pouring rain. There were others with me, waiting. I had hoped that the tea shop owner would be from elsewhere, but no luck, I could not make out where he was from. I thought that everyone there were probably spies from our 'foreign hand' because one could just boat oneself out to their nearest port. Nobody looked like a pilgrim going out to worship Krishna at a temple. Everyone just looked normal, and most were local. They probably did not get out anywhere, and this was their daily life. They knew each other and everyone had someone to talk to, even the tea shop owner. I was the quiet guy in the tea shop, and there was another one, someone who looked like he was from somewhere else.

The person from somewhere else had asked for biscuits along with his tea, and he had been given a large pack of 'spechchal gulukos biskutt', and asked if I could share it with him. I thought, like, why not, and ordered for two scones, so that I would not look guilty eating up all the biscuits. We made some space over an empty carton and used it like a table to keep the biscuits, scones and tea, and probably imagined ourselves as propah tea-drinking gentlemen, and sat back to enjoy the moment, the location and the uncertainty. We introduced ourselves, me, the serendipitous traveler, and the person from somewhere introduced himself as Virambhai from Khorasa, near Junagadh. I was puzzled. The name and place sounded like inner Gujarat, but he did not seem to be so. I asked him again, and he confessed. He was from Nagpur, but had settled at Khorasa, and had a small agricultural processing factory that had him traveling to various places to find customers for his material. "Why do you come here? To Bet Dwarka?" He asked me, "To see Krishna temples? Any special puja you plan?"

We got to talking, and kept on talking on various subjects during the first cup of tea. While we waited for our second cup of tea, Virambhai asked me if I would be coming to Khorasa. I asked him about the place and he told me about the "Balaji Tirupati Venkateswara Temple" of Khorasa. He claimed that it was a very old temple and I had to visit it, otherwise my trip to this western side of Gujarat would be a waste. I took out my notebook to write down details of the temple, and asked him for instructions on getting to Khorasa and more information about the temple. At that moment of taking out the notebook and starting to write down the information, Virambhai looked startled, and seemed really worked up. He looked like he was looking at a memory from a long long time ago. He was quiet and thoughtful and somewhere else in his mind. I asked him about why he was so puzzled, and he replied, "That notebook, that jhola and that pen-pencil. It reminded me of someone else. More than ten years ago, at this very place, again, on another rainy day, while waiting for the boats to Bet Dwarka. He was a strange person, someone very very difficult to forget."

I looked up at Virambhai. He was totally lost, back to somewhere back in time. He kept remembering, "He was a strange person. He was a swami from somewhere, but he was totally not like any other swami. I have met many swamis, sadhus and priests and godmen. But, he was totally like all of us. Except that he was not like all of us. He had come from Somnath, and was waiting to go to Bet Dwarka. But he was from somewhere else. He would keep opening his diary and notebook and would take out his pen-pencil and would keep writing notes. He was a very different person. He seemed like someone you should respect and show your respect, but he was not someone who would insist that you respect him. He was a very decent person, and I had the good fortune to talk to him here, at this jetty, waiting for the boat. And we traveled together on the boat later. We spoke about many things, but he spoke to everyone. It was a strange day, but I can never forget it. My life changed all over after meeting him."

I wondered if Virambhai was referring to the same unknown swami that I had heard about from my taxi driver at Uttarakhand. The unknown swami who had traveled with him from Dehradun to Haridwar to Mussoorie to Gangotri. I asked Virambhai about how did this swami from his ten-year long memory look like? And ditto it was. He was the same unknown swami. It was a long wait, probably, looking at the rainfall at the jetty, and the wait for the boats to cross the creek. I sat back to listen, and asked the tea shop owner to keep sending us hot cups of tea as Virambhai spoke about the unknown swami. Very soon, as Rakesh had told in his stories, everyone else in the group around us at the tea shop were listening to the story of the unknown swami and were nodding and gesturing in agreement and wonder and appreciation. It was amazing. More like a flashback or like Virambhai said, a memory that had come back. Very strongly.

Virambhai settled in to his story of the great unknown swami, "We were waiting in a shed here, waiting for the rain to go away. The sound in the tin shed was too loud, and some of us decided to run out to the tiffin room being managed by two brothers from Kerala, just outside the parking area. The brothers were related to a number of workers in the Tata company factories here. Everyone knew them and one could get good and hot breakfast and snacks through the day. I met him there, he was eating some idlis and dosa. For us, it is like eating one plate of idli is luxury, ten years ago, and eating a dosa would be like one month afterwards. But I was attention to this man because he was eating. He was eating and eating, but he was this very thin man, not thin like thin, but thin than me and others in that tiffin room. They had some sort of language code, they spoke to each other in some language, and the Kerala brothers gave him a plate with eight idlis and two large bowls of chutney. He did not take any sambar. Then they gave him three dosas. It seemed all very normal to them."

"For us, at Junagadh, ten years ago, one plate idlis was enough for one month. So I watched this thin man eat all those idlis like it was normal food. He knew I was watching him. Suddenly, he had eaten everything on his plate. I did not realise at all that he had finished eating. He looked at me, and smiled, and I could not do anything after he had smiled. He was like an old friend, and I felt that I had known him for a long time. I went to sit at his table, and asked the Kerala brothers for only tea and one dal-vada that they had as a special dish. It was enough and it was very tasty. The strange man smiled at my choice of dal-vada and asked the Kerala brothers to get him one vada and one special black coffee except that he said kaapii and not said coffee. I sat there, quietly, and I cannot forget the entire day from then, from that moment."

There were others at the table with Virambhai. The Kerala brothers came up to the table and spoke to the strange thin man, "Swamiji, we are lucky that you have come back to meet us, after your trip to Somnath and Dwarka. Please see if you can stay with us tonight, at our house. Everyone will be happy to meet you and they remember the previous time that you stayed here. Your train from Okha station is only tomorrow afternoon. Where will you stay in Okha tonight? When you come back from the Bet temples, we will take you to the house and my father will call everyone else and they will meet you tonight. We need to listen to you, and we need to listen to your advice and we would like to pray with you at our house."

That was when Virambhai realised that he was sitting across a swami. But what manner of a swami was he? This man did not look like any godman at all. He wore a white qurta, khakhi cotton trousers, jhola, gold-rimmed round glasses, close-cut haircut, very clean right up to his fingernails. He sat there drinking his black coffee, and the three others at the table seemed to wait for permission to speak to him. The unknown swami gestured to them affectionately, and they began to talk to him. The eldest among them, from the looks of him, a trader from Dwarka, said, "O pujya swamiji, we are thankful that we are able to meet you, again. We can still remember your visit to our Dwarka house, when you came to the temple managed by our family in the town. Your advice helped us to take care of our problems in our family and we are now much more happier. My father has asked us specially to meet you and we knew that you would be coming here from Somnath, like you wrote in the postcard that you sent to our house."

The unknown swami smiled and replied to the trader from Dwarka, "No, Hasmukhbhai, not at all. I am happy to meet you again, here at Okha. I would have met you at Dwarka during this visit but I was not sure about my schedule. I am coming here from the Nageshwar temple and I had a wonderful puja there. Now, I want to go to Okha-bet, if Krishna permits me. This will be my third visit to the island. This is true India, here, at Okha, when you wait to go to the Bet. Come with me, travel with me, and I will enjoy the pilgrimage, knowing that I have got your company. Look at this young man here, he seems to also be keen to go the island. Are you a pilgrim, or are you a local person from Okha or from Okha-bet? This is a good place, and I make new friends each time I come here."

Virambhai suddenly felt totally at awe, feeling some sort of an energy passing through him when the unknown swami looked at him and smiled and spoke. He felt the loss of words, but managed to reply, "Swamiji, I am not from Okha. I am from Khorasa, the village where the oldest Balaji temple is to be found in Gujarat. Its a very sacred place and many people come to visit the temple from many different places. There are traditional prayers and priests and we are very fond of Khorasa. But, I come to Okha, Dwarka and Porbandar on business, but I think I am lucky, for I am able to see and enjoy my Gujarat in every manner. I also see people from all over India coming here, and they love Gujarat, and they enjoy coming to visit us. So, I am happy. I am happy that you are here, Swamiji, and that people from my Gujarat love you."

The unknown swami smiled, and the traders from Dwarka also smiled at Virambhai. They spoke with love and affection, "Bhai, we are very fond of Swamiji, and we are very fortunate that he makes time for us, and meets us and keeps in contact with us. We are a good family at Dwarka, and we had many problems, but it was with Swamiji's help that we were able to stay together and be together and be happy. He gave us very simple advice, without any magic or tantra or foolishness or superstition. We have a temple in our very house, and all our forefathers have taken care of the temple. Imagine then, that we are now living without superstition, in a very rational manner, with the simple logic that is required to live in today's world. We are grateful to ourselves and to our elders in being able to change our family lives."

The Kerala brothers had been hearing the words of Hasmukhbhai, and as did Virambhai, everyone looked puzzled at the statements. There were others who heard this and came nearer, pulling their chairs and benches closer. It was raining heavily outside, but it seemed like it was all silent inside the tiffin shop. There was a real diverse group of people within, Virambhai remembered. There were the Kerala brothers, the traders from Dwarka including Hasmukhbhai, a group of 7-8 brick-layers from Rajasthan, a Sikh family on their tour, two sadhus in saffron, one of them carrying a seven-feet tall trishul (= Shiva's trident), a group of school teachers on their trip to visit different places and local workers from the industries nearby. Hasmukhbhai smiled, for he knew that everyone was curious, and therefore he asked, "Swamiji, may I have your permission to tell my brothers and sisters here about what you did, about how you helped us and what is it that changed with us?"

The Kerala brothers intervened, and one of them said, "No, Bhai, do not ask Swamiji, he will not allow you to share information about him. He is very reluctant in that manner. Please go ahead and tell us. I will give Swamiji another cup of coffee and I will hold his walking stick so that he cannot go anywhere." Everyone laughed at the challenge, including the unknown swami, who replied, "For coffee, everything is forgiven, my brother. One can commit any crime for coffee. I am not immodest, but I did not want everyone here to go away thinking I am some magic godman. I am only a traveler, and I take stories and experiences from one part of India to another. If someone has a problem, I tell them about how someone else in India has solved it or faced it. If someone needs a solution, I tell them how I saw someone else in India face the question. I am not an encyclopedia. I travel, and I pick up information and I share it with everyone. That's all."

Hasmukhbhai smiled, and spoke, "Friends, brothers, sisters, listen to our story then, so that you can also, like Swamiji, share it with others somewhere else in India. We are a large joint family, with more than thirty persons living in a very large house, and with more than ten small children running around. Our beloved Dwarkadish (= Krishna) came to visit our family, long long ago, it is said, when he was in Dwarka, and met our ancestors. Since then, our family has retained the presence of our beloved Krishna and it has grown into a small temple along the banks of the waters behind the great Dwarka temple. There are others like us, and some are true and some are new, but for everyone, it is the devotion that makes them do what they do. And like all large families, we had our problems, of all types."

"Our cousins and some brothers moved away to other parts of Dwarka, and some were more successful, and they moved to other countries. We now have cousins and family in England, and in America and in Australia. There is one family in South Africa and they visit us each year. We stay in touch and we are very close together and our ties are very strong. The new additions to our families, either in America or in Dwarka are also faithful to the ideals and ethics of our family. We are very strongly passionate about being vegetarian and very strongly passionate about various festivals, their rituals and the fasting and the celebrations. We do it without fail, and sometimes our cousins from other countries also send their children to learn from us, and to participate and to be proud of what we do."

He continued, "Recently, that is about two years ago, there were problems. Some cousins and the younger daughters-in-law expressed their desire that they would like to seek new homes and stay in other parts of Dwarka, but would like to share the money that we would receive at the temple. For hundreds of years, it has been the practice that the money would only be used to take care of the needs of the temple. Everyone take turns in performing as the priest, but everyone goes to work at some place or the other, and we take care of our families in our way. Some of us have rented homes in the same street, for so many people cannot live comfortably in one house. But we use our salaries and savings to look at our family needs and the temple money is used only for the temple's upkeep. Even the rooms in the other parts of the house are managed by the cousins who live in them, and their painting and repairs are done with their salaries. But, recently, some young cousins and their young wives wanted to share in the money received at the temple."

Virambhai could hear the silence in the tiffin shop, as Hasmukhbhai told his story. Even today, as Virambhai told me the story at Okha, and pointed out in the general direction of the Kerala brothers' tiffin shop, in that rain, I could sense the mood inside the eatery. There was silence and everyone was totally attentive. What of the unknown swami, I asked Virambhai. He struggled to recollect, for they had all been watching Hasmukhbhai, and then he remembered. Yes, he said, the unknown swami had taken out his diary and pen-pencil, and was busy on his own, writing his notes, and he was totally lost in his work. That was what had made him remember the unknown swami, he said, when I had taken out my notebook to write notes, while waiting it out in the rain.

Hasmukhbhai continued, "Friends, you cannot imagine what happens when someone in the family turns greedy. It destroys the family totally. This is what happened to us. We tried to reason with them, explain to them that what belonged to Dwarkadish, should not be taken away from him. We tried some simple logic, by saying that every rupee that Dwarkadish received at our house, the family would receive hundred rupees by other honest means of hard work and service. We also tried to explain that it was the tradition of the family, to add two rupees to every one rupee of Krishna, and help someone else, outside our family, with any needs that they may have. We have helped in heart operations, we have helped in marriages and we have helped in studies of students from other families. But, we have never asked for our name to be read out in the marriage, and we have never taken the cash receipt from the hospital to claim any tax exemption. Our temple is not even registered as a temple trust. It is kept as a Hindu joint family account, and the money for our beloved Krishna is retained in our accounts as "gods' account" only."

"Our cousins refused to accept our logic. They had become too lazy in their lives and had not made attempts to work hard and struggle with determination like all others had done. As a result, the young men did not get good jobs and their wives from rich families wanted to get wealthy in the easy manner. They had come with the thought that since we were managing a temple at Dwarka, we must be very rich. We are rich, but in our hearts. It has nothing to do with wealth in terms of Rupees. Even our relatives in America, England or Australia have never refused to contribute to the temple. They send money each month, knowing and accepting that it is their duty. They would not have grown and progressed if it was not for the blessings and protection of our very beloved Krishna."

"They finally sent police complaints and also wrote to the income tax authorities and to the municipal corporation," said Hasmukhbhai, and continued, "but, this is the city of Dwarka, the city of Dwarkadish himself. Who will not understand us? The police understood our situation, and the tax officers came to our temple and were very happy with the temple and the account books. The municipal officers have been born in Dwarka and have grown up visiting the temple from childhood. They love the temple and its very pleasant homely atmosphere. But, our cousins did not agree. They would come and fight with us and speak in loud voices and speak in dirty language. That is when Swamiji came to our house, to the temple, of course, because he did not know that it was a family temple and we lived there. He came only to visit, during his first trip to Dwarka."

The unknown swami looked up from writing in his diary and smiled at Hasmukhbhai. He was quite busy in his writing, and must have realised that this story-telling session would take a long time, and it was raining heavily outside, and there was no other option for him but to sit it out. Virambhai kept watching the unknown swami as Hasmukhbhai kept talking about the events at his house and about his family. The unknown swami was with very minimal luggage or bags. Of course, he must have kept his stuff in some vehicle. Both the Kerala brothers sat on either side of the unknown swami. They were very protective of him. Each one had a cup of black coffee, and they kept refilling the unknown swami's cup. He never seemed to realise it, but kept sipping at the coffee like it was the most normal thing to do, that is, to drink coffee without any break. For Virambhai, a true native of Gujarat, for whom tea flowed in his blood, this unbroken coffee drinking looked very strange. But, what must be, must be, he thought. To each person, their choice.

Hasmukhbhai continued, "Swamiji had just entered our house, and our temple on the ground floor, just off the street, on his way, touring Dwarka. He must have come earlier, because he seemed familiar with the temple premises. He kept his bags in one corner, and did the worship by himself, because there was no priest at the inner sanctum. I was sitting at one corner, with my brothers and sisters, because all youngsters had been sent down to the temple area, to avoid hearing the bad language and arguments that were being used in the house premises on the first floor. We watched Swamiji, because there was no other person visiting the temple at that moment. He looked around for a priest, and realising that there was none, he just picked up the prayer plate, lit an agarbatti (= incense stick) by himself, did a small prayer, kept some flowers on the plate, and sat down with his tulsi-mala (= prayer beads of basil wood) and started his chanting."

"He kept chanting peacefully. We could hear the arguments and the fights very clearly in the temple premises. But, Swamiji was not disturbed. We could hear both the sides. Our cousins were very vulgar and they used very bad language. My parents and their cousins kept their patience and never lost control. Soon, two policemen entered the temple, removed their footwear outside, kept their police-sticks along the wall, and went upstairs. They were also involved in the argument, pacifying our cousins. We knew the policemen, for they were from our neighbourhood and they knew the old Dwarka and today's Dwarka. They were born there, and they had come to work at the local police station. But, our cousins did not agree. Perhaps because they knew the policemen, they did not get frightened. The policemen returned soon, and went away from the temple."

"I was curious about Swamiji. I can still remember the day. My sister was also curious." Hasmukhbhai continued, "I could only see this white qurta, and very decent, clean khaki cotton trousers, round-rimmed gold spectacles like our Gandhiji, his walking stick leaning on the wall, and Swamiji chanting his prayer, quietly, with his tulsi mala. I went up to sit near him, and my sister came with me. He had a small bag, sort of a pouch actually. He looked at us, both me and my sister, and saw the worry on our faces. He must have realised that we were part of the family, and that vulgar argument was worrying us. Swamiji just simply continued chanting, but with one hand, he pulled out small 27-bead tulsi-malas and gave them, one each to me and to my sister. And gently, in a low voice, he chanted, - Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama Hare Hare - and I started chanting, and so did my sister."

"My two other cousins, younger than us, who had been sitting in the corner of the temple room, came up to us, and watched us chanting. They were about 8 and 10 years old, and they just walked up to Swamiji, and kept their hands out, and almost demanded that he give them the small tulsi-malas. He did, with a smile, and repeated the prayer mantra. They sat down, as though it was the most normal thing to do, and they began to chant, but they did it loudly. Swamiji just patted them with love, and they kept chanting. Hearing their voices perhaps, our parents and their cousins came down to the temple. My father recognised Swamiji from a previous visit, and greeted him with a namaste. Everyone, all the elders, kept watching us chant the holy and most sacred Krishna Maha Mantra, and it must have just pacified them totally."

As Virambhai told me, on that day, when he heard that the Swamiji had just started chanting with his tulsi-mala, by himself, and had taught the children to do the same, he felt cheated. Virambhai felt let down, that Hasmukhbhai and others had only been let on to start chanting. He had felt that since the strange gentleman was a Swamiji, or because others called him so, he would have gone and confronted the vulgar cousins, and he would have told them to stop shouting and using bad language in a temple, and he would have quoted the Srimad Bhagavat or the holy Gita, and would have magically changed their mindset etc. But he had not done anything of that sort. What type of a godman was he, then? At that moment, as he told me, Virambhai felt that the Swamiji was watching him, and he looked up, and indeed he was. The unknown swami was looking at him and smiling, pleasantly. Virambhai was startled. Did he read his mind? Did he know his thoughts?

Hasmukhbhai, it did turn out as it did, had a long story to tell. Virambhai was quite upset with having been second guessed out of his thoughts by the unknown swami, and here was this trader from Dwarka, having a great time, telling stories about his own family. Virambhai could also tell stories about his own family, but he did not have a mysterious stranger, like this unknown swami to talk about. Everyone at the Kerala brothers' tiffin shop were listening quietly, and they had let out a collective sigh when Hasmukhbhai had spoken about the tulsi-malas. Virambhai did not dare look again at the unknown swami. He may have perhaps realised that he could be irritated, and he may recite some mantra or whatever they did, he thought. It would be better to keep listening to this never ending problem about this trader's family, he told me.

The story about the family's problems at their temple in Dwarka continued. Hasmukhbhai said, "I know what you must all be wondering. If Swamiji only did chanting on that day, how did our problems go away? No. Not at all. Nobody's problems go away in such a simple manner. On that day, Swamiji chanted with the children, myself and my cousins, and then later, he sat with my father and his brother, and they discussed the matter. He just heard the entire story and went away, promising us that he would be back on the next day, by 9 am. And, true to his word, he was back. This time, he had brought more tulsi-malas. Only fifty paise, he said, bought at the store just next to the entrance of the main temple to our beloved Dwarkadish. He distributed them to everyone in our house, saying that he had sought blessings of Lord Krishna himself, in the early morning prayers."

"The entire family chanted, with Swamiji, and he did the chanting for at least eight malas with us. Some sat for the entire eight, while some sat for a couple, got up, did some stuff and came back to do the rest. After the eight, he got up and went away, saying that he would return for the evening prayers. He returned, and we did another round of eight malas of chanting together. By night, we were all happier, and more pleasant. My father told us that we should not be angry with our cousins. My uncle told us that we cannot blame our cousins, because they did not have a good job, and they did not have money to rent a house, they must have damaged their mind. My grandmother told me, she who had been shouting on the previous day, she said that we should have faith in our beloved nandalala (= Krishna) and we should have faith in our family."

"Swamiji returned every day, morning and evening, and chanted with us. He never gave us any lecture, or never tried to intervene with our cousins. He had never advised my father and uncle, I found out later," Hasmukhbhai continued, "He had just listed to the story because my father had been eager to tell him all about it. He had not made any reply or comment about the situation. After four days, my father got his thoughts all sorted out, and sent a message to our cousins that they were welcome to go to court, and fight it out in court. Or, he could try and help them get a job by talking to his friends. After two days, our cousins came back, and made peace. That night, they joined us in chanting the sacred Shri Krishna Maha Mantra with us, and they sat for the entire eight malas."

Hasmukhbhai said, "Then, came the surprise to all of us. It turned out that Swamiji had come to the temple on the first day, when we had seen him, during the loud arguments, as part of his walking tour to all the temples along the banks of the ghats. He was to leave for Jamnagar on the same night, to attend some seminar or meeting or whatever. But when he heard the problems in the house, and the impact that it would have had on the family, he had decided to stay on, and just give his support. Now, it was time for him to leave, and he gave each one of us, all children, ten postcards each, with his address written on it, with a strange name in a strange language, that I cannot understand. The pin code was for somewhere in Orissa, so it must have been Oriya, I guess, but it was because he was going to Puri, to visit the temple there, and he would stay there for more than two weeks."

"He told us, all children, to write to him, on the postcards, every day, of what we felt happy about, within our family. If I felt happy about my grandmother, I was supposed to write to him. If my sister felt happy about me, she was supposed to write to him. We were puzzled about this, but we agreed to do it. Later we found out the importance of searching for something good in each one of us. We found that we did not even want to recognise the bad or evil or wrong of our closed ones. We kept waiting for the good to happen and when it did, we immediately pounced on it, and wrote to him. Within 10-20 days, within our family, even with our cousins who fought with us, we were all very good friends, and we are to this day. Not because Swamiji gave us a lecture or whatever, but because he made us search only for good within each one of us."

Virambhai was truly startled now. He had not expected that this would be so simple. Make each one of us look only for the good in others. Do not recognise the bad in others. Do not accept it. Do not count it. Just recognise the good and immediately write about it. Do not be silent about it. This was truly something magic, he told me. This was truly something that would be extremely difficult. He would have to ask the unknown swami about how to be able to go beyond the aspect that would be difficult to accept.