last local from Churchgate and traveling with ambitious gangsters

 It was the last local from Churchgate to Vasai, well past midnight. It would practically be all-empty, with most 3-seaters being occupied by passengers who could stretch out and sleep it out all the way. The slow local stopped for more than its usual day-time at Bombay Central, Dadar and Bandra to allow the long-distance night express trains to speed past enroute to their destinations. I had to travel all the way up to Vasai and that would be a journey of more than ninety minutes or so and therefore I organised my haversack as a comfortable pillow and covered myself with two sheets of today’s Times of India and planned to take a good nap all the way. Hopefully, I would not be disturbed by anyone.

There were other passengers on nearby 3-seaters. The rear 8-seater had a family sitting together, looking worried and tense, with several old-style cotton bags, tied up with nylon ropes. They must be going to Vasai to catch the interchange long distance trains that came in from Pune and changed over from the Central to the Western railway networks. Something must have happened at their native town or village, something unfortunate and tragic, perhaps.

The 3-seater opposite me was empty and a lucky passenger could get to sleep on it upon boarding at Marine Lines or Charni Road. It was difficult to fall asleep rightaway. This was my first journey at these hours and I had not planned it in this manner. Whattodo. I could not help it. I had to be at Vasai, just before dawn, to catch the down train from Indore that would turn eastwards to Pune and would help me reach before office hours for an early meeting.

It was ok, I thought. What if I could not go to sleep? I could just take some rest in case I did not get a good seat or sleeper berth on the train from Indore to Pune. The worried family on the 8-seater were whispering and chatting and I could hear all or some of it. The elderly lady was speaking in a terrified whisper and wondering about all the sleeping passengers. She wanted to know what they could do if anyone of these passengers jumped up and threatened them with a knife or a gun and wanted all their luggage and money. How could they fight him and avoid any injury.

I could not hear the reply from her middle-aged son but it had not been satisfactory. The middle-aged daughter-in-law replied impatiently to the elderly lady and the gist of it was that any such person with a knife or a gun would be truly unlucky. They could actually pay the thief to take away their entire luggage and go away. At least, they could then look forward to purchasing new items and new clothes. The five kids, probably theirs, laughed in silent gasps.

Three men boarded at Marine Lines and came to sit at the 3-seater that was opposite me. I glanced at them in a very hesitant manner. They looked quite decent, middle class, half-sleeve shirts, terene trousers, leather shoes with laces and had newspapers, an umbrella each, and small packets of salted peanuts that they must have purchased at the railway platform. It had become costly this month and one had to pay two rupees. A hundred percent inflation and that must be reflective of the state of the nation, I thought. No threat or worry from these three decent persons, I felt.

One was quite elderly, probably their boss or elder brother or their senior at their workplace. The other two spoke respectfully with the elder. He was dressed in a white shirt and a pale cream trouser. The youngest was dressed quite formally. He had his half sleeve shirt tucked in and had buttoned up right up there, all the way to the collar. The third one looked nervous. He looked around the compartment. He was glancing at each passenger and yet, he had just rightaway dismissed the family at the 8-seater. He did not look at them. I could sense his thoughts as he looked at me. It was just more than a normal glance. He was staring deliberately to check if I was really sleeping or just faking it up.

The youngster in the formal tucked-in-shirt bowed low, just a bit, and spoke in a matter of fact manner. “Boss, we may have to bring a full stop to that shop owner. He refused to pay up on the monthly rent and has not paid for the past one year. You are very kind to him otherwise I would have used my full stop methods, at least six months ago.”

The elder smiled and patted at his folded-up newspaper. “Who are you talking about? Thanawala? Let him be. He is a Bawa and they are like that only. I will talk to his mother. She will know what to do. We can visit her at Flora Fountain. You come with me. You cannot go about killing all our tenants who are not able to pay up. You have already forgotten the mess that you created last year with the Malabari family. You thought that they were just local shopkeepers who were selling fake goods by labelling them as smuggled goods. You did not realise that they had a big background support. It took me quite a lot of trouble and five months to settle everything down. Do not start again.”

The third man was watching me intently. He was suspicious that I was not fast asleep and that I was probably listening to their conversation. I was getting worried. What if they did notice that I was awake? Full stop or what?

The youngster was not convinced about taking it easy about whosoever that Thanawala was. “I know all about your patience, Boss. You tell us to be polite and patient and yet you want us to collect as much pending rent as more than possible. We have to answer to you. This Thanawala knows it entirely. He threatened me by saying that he will complain to you. He says that his business was down for the entire year and he cannot pay and that we cannot remove him from the house because he has his receipts from earlier years and he has sent letters to the owners about it. Just let me handle it in my way. I will return with Richard and Pakiya and we will take care of him. New tenants will pay.”

I sat up in alarm. These fellows were talking about knocking off someone. It would be better to move to another compartment and get away from them. The third man smiled in triumph. He had guessed correctly about me. At the same moment, the elderly lady with the family on the 8-seater screamed. She probably thought that I was a thief.

“Do not shoot, do not shoot,” she shouted. She was holding up her hands in absolute filmy style. Her daughter-in-law had bent down to hide. The middle-aged man was looking very apologetic at us and shrugging his shoulders.

The three men looked at me in alarm. They must have thought that I was a threat to them and was traveling in the train to cause them harm. I was in an absolute state of panic. I shouted at the elderly lady and her family, waving my hands and saying, “No. No. I am not trying to harm you. Do not worry. I am not going to shoot you. Do not worry.”

Saying thus, I turned to apologise to the three men. They were gone. They had probably jumped off at Bombay Central.

From "the very short short stories on first edit" 

(c) Bharat Bhushan

12 February 2022 

a dust storm in Jaipur, Genghis Khan, and a family busy with their books

I watched the dust storm gather strength on the tarmac and the runways from the safety of the interiors of the airport at Jaipur. It was getting somewhat worrisome. I wondered if it would delay all departures. My flight was to New Delhi and onwards to Pune with quite a number of hours to be in transit. I was usually careful about that sort of a time gap between flights but this could take it right up to the edge. The announcements were coming in. Flights were being delayed and it was by three hours for now and could be much more. I logged in to my ticket status and checked the one from Delhi to Pune and relaxed. Several flights out of Delhi were also getting delayed. Now, I could settle in at the departure area, find a silent and comfortable section and get out a book to read.

Most passengers were seated nearer to the high outer windows and were watching the dust storm. The regulars from Jaipur and those who looked very much local were in the middle section, not bothered, and were busy with their cellphones or were napping. What was there to watch in a dust storm for someone from Jaipur? I walked around a bit, scouting for a good location. About four entire long rows of rather comfortable seats were somewhat less crowded. The reason became obvious as I neared it. There were no television monitors or eateries or rest-rooms in the vicinity.

I made myself comfortable near a large potted palm and placed my haversack between my leg space and the plant. The other carry on had my airport stuff, books, bottled water, small packages of snacks and one particularly aromatic parcel of puri bhaji from an excellent foodcart near the railway station. I was looking forward to enjoying myself with it when on the flight or while at the transit lounge at the New Delhi airport. For now, I could be busy with my book.

An elderly couple on the other side of the potted palm had already made themselves quite at home, actually, in a way. They were snoring away happily while a younger couple were busy chatting with one another. They must be related, I guessed, for otherwise they would have been irritated or would have moved away to another section. I was ok with it for I was used to traveling with mixed group of fellow passengers in long distance railway trains, night buses and while staying in dormitories and whatever. Opposite, to the extreme corner, I had a group of pilgrims, from the sight of all the stuff that they carried and their dress. They also had a guruji amidst them and yet they were silent.

Right across me, the most intriguing group of all. An elderly gentleman, a not-so-youngish lady, and two very young kids, a boy and a girl, with about eight bags on alternate seats, being used for various purposes. The elderly gentleman had his elbow resting on a large carry-on bag while the lady was using one soft bag as a back support and had another bag tucked below her seat. The kids were more enterprising. Each one was using a bag as a pillow and backrest and was able to adjust adequately to sit across two seats. The more interesting of all, each one had a book.

Curiouser and curiouser, I tried to identify the books without giving away my intention. The elderly gentleman was reading a book that I recognised right away. It was one of the very popular Jim Corbett titles and I felt happy about it. Fellow nature lover. He must be a good person, I certified. Everything is all a-ok about him. The lady a book from the One-Minute-Manager series. Slim book about management and organisational behaviour. Hmmm, I thought. She must be a working professional, recently promoted, good organisation and wants to be better informed at work.

The young lad had a book from the Game of Thrones series. My mind went ‘Wow!’ That was some heavy reading. I had enjoyed the TV series but reading it had made me quite tired. This young fellow looked determined at his task and I saluted him. Not many adults would have picked it up at a book shop. They young lady, possibly his younger sister, had a novel-sized book about basic photography skills. I was impressed. She was not going to be one of those who were just happy to be a point-and-click accidental photographer just because her cellphone had a camera.

I could run an experiment, I thought to myself. I returned the heavy-set novel that I was about to read and picked out ‘The Wolf of the Plains’ about Genghis Khan by Conn Iggulden. The cover would be interesting to each one of them for it showed up the title about a wolf while it had interesting art work about Genghis Khan and of course the image would also be appealing. Something for the elderly gentleman and both the kids. I wanted to see if they would gaze at the cover, look for longer times, and would be curious enough to come over to chat with me.

Sure enough, the young lad glanced past, something clicked in his mind, and he turned back to look at it keenly. It had caught his imagination and he could not let it go. He walked over to the elderly gentleman and whispered. The elder looked around politely and casually, very casually, brought his gaze to my book. Now, he was hooked. He whispered back to the young lad and nodded. The lady was possibly the mother of the two kids and she had not moved her gaze out from her book. There was quite some furious and hectic whispering between the elder and the young lad.

It was however, the younger sister who was bolder and impulsive. She had been hooked on by the cover page of the book and she was smart. She picked up her mother’s cellphone and, I just guessed at this by her actions, must have typed in the title and googled about the book. She read it up and understood the contents and also realised that there were more titles in the series and that all were best sellers and were all about Genghis Khan and his descendants.

She walked up to the elderly gentleman and her brother and spoke in a stage whisper that I could hear very clearly. “It is not about a wolf. It is about the plains of Mongolia. It is about Genghis Khan. You will like it, brother. There is a book series and they have better Amazon ratings than ‘Game of Thrones’. It has history, war, adventure, geography and all other stuff in it. Dadaji, you will also like it. There is something about a wolf and an eagle in this particular book of the series. Mummy will not like it, maybe. The stories are very long. But, I checked about Mongolia. It is good country and the potential for photography is very good. I saw some of the photographs. Maybe I will go there.”

I was blown away, absolutely. The young girl must have been on the cellphone for just about two minutes or more. She had absorbed all this first-time information, rapid fast, and picked out just the salient facts for her brother. The elderly gentleman probably realised that I had heard all that she said. He looked at me and smiled, very politely.   

From "the very short short stories on first edit" 

(c) Bharat Bhushan

5 February 2022

Panduranga Vittala!!! - the man who did not remember his name.

eager faces, footsteps, 

so far away, yet, near... 

Vittala! O Vittala!!

His mother, Indu, had warned him about it. Raghu worried that his father, Kala, would once again travel with others from the village and join the palkhi from Alandi to Pandharpur. He had wanted to go with them but his father had refused. In a couple of years, only if he really wanted to go on the palkhi, could he go, was his advice. You should not go because your neighbours are going, he had instructed. HE will call you, and you will know that the time has come, only then, and not before, you will know.

They would be leaving tomorrow, his mother told him, and she had asked him to be ready to wish them at the village temple. Raghu was puzzled. How would Panduranga Vittala call him? How would he know that the correct time had come? Do such things really happen? He had faith in his father. He knew that he could not be wrong. If he said that such and such thing would happen, it would. It always did.

They saw them off at the temple, twenty warkaris, determined to go all the way from their village to Alandi and join the palkhi. They would of course return along with the  palkhi and stop for awhile at a village nearby, Shivri, when they would be on their way towards Pandharpur. For years, and several generations, the Sant Dnyaneshwar palkhi halted at Shivri, and conducted prayers, before proceeding enroute. Raghu's mother was keen to go ahead to Shivri and join her sister, Ashwini, who was a resident of the village, and prepare to wait for the palkhi.

Raghu was left alone at his house with his grandparents, Supa and Anandi, both past their eighties. He loved it, for Supa was known to tell the best stories, and he had always spoken to Raghu about the palkhi. The old man had walked in the palkhi for more than fifty years, at least, and perhaps more. He knew about all the activities in the  palkhi and he would tell Raghu about what would be happening, at each hour, every day. The stories were filled with all the good details and they made the young 10-year-old Raghu more determined to go out there, and join the palkhi.

Supa advised Raghu against running away to join the palkhi. That would not be the right thing to do, he said. So, Raghu waited for the palkhi to come to Shivri. He would take his grandparents with him to his mother's sister's house on the night before. The first of the warkaris would start walking through, trying to stay ahead of the palkhi. They were stragglers, and Raghu could meet them at night and in the early dawn and give them some help. The nearby villages set up camp along the roadside to help the pilgrims with water, food, blankets and places to sleep and take rest. He would set up help for the  warkaris at his aunt's cropfields. They had a deep well and an electric pump, and Raghu was allowed to operate it, only for the palkhi. He would pump up the water and fill up the open tanks. The warkaris could use the water for drinking or cooking or bathing.

Raghu and his grandparents were taken by their neighbour in his tractor-trailer to Shivri. After a hasty dinner at Ashwini's house, the three of them, Supa, Anandi and Raghu walked up to the small shed on the farm and set up their camp for the next 3-4 days. It was almost dusk and his grandparents were eagerly looking forward to be of service to all the hundreds of thousands of pilgrims who would be walking by. They settled down to sleep in the shed and after a while, the rains began. A slow drizzle at first, and kept increasing in spate, through the night.

He could not sleep that night. He thought about his father and if it was raining at Dehu and Alandi and Pune. He was restless and struggled to fall asleep as he feared for his father. He had been unwell through the year and had been treated for pneumonia in the monsoon. Would he be sensible enough to stay safe and healthy, Raghu wondered. His grandmother, Anandi, could sense his worries, and she sat up and told him not to worry. His father, Kala, knew how to take care of himself. He had been on the palkhi for so many years, that he would know about what to do. No warkari from Purandhar had ever given up during the palkhi in hundreds of years, she told Raghu.

Raghu kept chatting with his grandmother while Supa was snoring away blissfully. They had a warm fire burning inside. There were some cattle in the shed, including cows, oxen and buffaloes, three dogs and a bunch of poultry, all resting away, out of the rain. The shed was warm, and the fire was comfortable, but it was too intoxicating for Raghu. He felt suffocated inside, and went out to sit in the covered porch, and watch the rain. It must have been about past midnight, he guessed, as he saw the express bus for Baramati drive by. There was no other traffic and he could see the wet road lit up with the faint moonlight shining down.

As he sat there, watching the silent and glistening road, he saw, suddenly, a ghostly shadow, a sort of something that was moving out on the road. It seemed to be a man, walking steadily, in the heavy rain, without fear and without any hesitation. It was crazy to walk in such conditions. Raghu called out to his grandparents, and they came out on the porch to watch. Supa agreed with Anandi that it was very foolish for that man to walk on like that. Was he a warkari? He was certainly not moving towards Pune. He did not dress like a warkari. Anandi gave two thick plastic rainsheets to Raghu and asked him to go out on the road and fetch the man to the warmth of the shed.

The young boy went out in the rain and caught up with the man walking on the road. He held him by his hand and the man did not protest. Raghu gave him the dry rainsheet and the man accepted it as a simple matter of fact and walked back to the shed. Supa rushed him inside the shed and made him remove all his clothes. The man obeyed silently and dressed himself in some old clothes that were given to him by Raghu. They made him sit near the fire and waited for him to get warm and comfortable. Raghu watched him quietly and wondered about his madness in walking so calmly in this desolate road at midnight in the pouring storm.

Anandi got busy making tea. Raghu and Supa watched the strange man. He seemed like a very different person, unlike anyone from the Purandhar area. Tall, very fair, army-style haircut, broad shouldered and without any jewellery or tattoos. The strange man sat silently, welcoming the warmth of the fire. Raghu passed on the cup of tea to him, took his own, and leaned on the sleeping buffalo nearby. Familiar with his antics, the buffalo did not get disturbed and did not push him away. The four of them drank their cups of tea quietly, watching the fire. They were content to be dry and warm and out of the pouring rain.

Supa asked the obvious question, "O Mauli! Where are you from? Why were you walking in this heavy rain at midnight on this road? This is a busy road, and at night, any vehicle could have killed you." The strange man looked at Supa, and replied, calmly, "I do not know. I do not know my name. I do not know where am I from. For the past 6-7 days, I have been walking on different roads, and sitting at different bus-stands and railway stations. But, I do not remember. I do not know why I was walking on this street. The rain did not bother me. I did not notice it at all. I kept walking in the sun, and I kept walking when it became dark. It started to rain, and I was happy. It was something different."

Raghu, Supa and Anandi looked at the strange man, amazed. Anandi asked, "You do not remember anything about yourself at all? Oh! You poor man! You look like you are from a good family. You speak Marathi properly. So surely, you are from Maharashtra. Do you know Marathi from a long time?" The strange man smiled at the question, and replied, "Tai, you are the first person to help me in this manner. Nobody thought it to be significant that I spoke to them in Marathi. I spoke to so many people, and nobody could help me as you did, in one single statement. And in one single question, you have helped me."

Supa laughed loudly and said, "O Mauli! Do not worry. You are in our village now. We will not send you away at all. You are a good problem for this boy's grandmother to take care of. This is a sacred land. You are her second son now. The ways of Panduranga Vittala are mysterious, my Raghunatha. Do you see what is he trying to do? Did you not ask me as to how will he talk to you? Did you not ask me as to how he will tell you that it would be time for you to do something different? Do you not see him talking to us now? O Ranga! O Panduranga!! What a problem you have given us today!!!"

Raghu wondered at Supa's laughter and statements. How was this strange man related to Panduranga Vittala? How would this man's presence be symbolic of a message from his god to him about the palkhi? How was this strange man who did not know his name be a message from god? Watching Raghu's puzzled look, Supa laughed again, and said, "Why do you think it to be impossible? This is not the end of the story, for it is you who saw him in the rain. Why was he walking here? And, why did you go out of the shed? This is HIS language, for this is the way HE talks to us. HE gives us problems,  ay! ay! ay! Only when he gives us very big problems, then it makes it difficult to give up on them, my boy! What a terrific problem he has given us!"

The strange man smiled at the banter between the old man and the young boy. He spoke to Raghu, "He is right, you know. I did not know why I walked, and why I came here. I am here now, and as your grandmother said, I am now in your care. You have to help me. If your grandfather says that this is the language of god, then, I believe him. Now, as of now, I have nobody else but the three of you." The young boy looked at his grandfather, puzzled, as Supa nodded in agreement. Anandi watched them all in a very bemused and indulgent manner. There had been many an event in their lives, and Supa and Anandi had walked in the palkhi for many long years. She had an unquestioned faith in the aspect of Panduranga Vittala and she knew within her that there would be an ultimate reason in this sudden development. For now, she asked everyone to go to sleep, for tomorrow, early dawn, the first of the warkaris would start walking by.

Early next day, Supa and Raghu were awake and away by dawn, cleaning the water pump and arranging the bathing, resting and cooking areas for the groups that would come by. Across the road and nearer to Shivri, other villagers were doing the same. Raghu's mother, Indu, and her sister, Ashwini, came up to them to help and Raghu excitedly told them the story of the strange man of the night. Both the ladies listened in an amused way and did not make any comment. Raghu was disappointed. He had thought that they would be shocked or eager to go and see the strange man for themselves, but they did not seem to be excited at all. They kept helping Supa and this made Raghu more upset. Angrily, he asked his mother, "Aai, do you know that  Dada thinks that this is my test, by Panduranga. He says that HE has sent him to me. I am supposed to help him. How is that possible?"

Indu and Ashwini nodded in agreement. Indu said, "Listen to your grandfather. This is  Dnyanba's palkhi to Panduranga himself that is about to come to our village. Why do you think ten lakh people walk all the way to Pandharpur? Everywhere else, wherever there is a temple to Vittala, on the month of Ashaadh, why do another twenty lakh people become so keen to worship him? They can see him, my son, and they talk to him. HE does not talk to us the way we talk to each other. That is not the language of the gods. They show us our way. Vittala himself has chosen to talk to you. My son, you are blessed. What would you do now? You have been allowed to see him in this strange man. He has no name, and he does not know himself. You are truly blessed, my son, for you have to decide about how to help him!"

Anandi called out to them from within the shed, and there he was. The strange man, dressed in Supa's clothes, looking like a villager from Purandhar. But there was no denying that he was different. Somehow, he looked very different. Supa took Indu and Ashwini to meet the strange man, and introduced the ladies and assured them that the strange man could converse easily in Marathi. Assured thus, Ashwini spoke to him, "I am from Shivri, and this is my village. Dada and Raghu told us about you. Do not feel that you have no one. You are welcome in my house and in my village. You do not have to tell us anything that you do not want us to know. You are now our first warkari for this year, and so, you are very special. HE will be watching us, and checking up on us, as to how we welcome our first warkari. Raghu will take care of you."

The strange man smiled, placed his hands together in a gesture of namaste, bowed slightly, and said, "Tai, I thank you. Raghu spotted me and brought me inside. Now, I only know that I know Marathi, and I remember Raghu's name. Today, I remember Supa and Anandi's name also. I remember the name of your village. At least, I am remembering something. That means that I am not in a bad condition. I am sure that from now onwards, everything will be better. I have had a very terrible time in the past 6-7 days. Let me help, for Raghu and his grandfather told me that your next two days are going to be very hectic."

Supa shouted out, for he had spotted the early warkaris coming ahead. Before they could reach Shivri, two police jeeps drove by, leading a convoy of 10-12 trucks with banners of the palkhi. The warkaris knew how to go about taking care of themselves. They greeted the local villagers and gratefully sat down, away from the roadside for some rest. Some came ahead to Supa, and as directed by him, went about having their bath in the open. A group of 8-10 warkaris alighted from a jeep, greeted Supa and Anandi, for they knew them from many years, and set up a small cookout and started preparing breakfast. Their group of walking pilgrims would be coming in a short while.

Everything was as usual, and this was the beginning of the entry of the palkhi into Shivri. But, today, would be a different day, thought Anandi, Supa, Raghu, Indu and Ashwini, separately, to themselves. Indu hugged her son, and told him, "See, look at the miracle. Your father prevented you from going on the palkhi with him, for he thought about his son, and that you are too young. See. The warkaris are coming to you. The  palkhi will be coming to you. And, before them, Panduranga Vittala, himself, has come to you as this strange man. This is his language. You have to answer him, my son. You are truly blessed. It is not about if you can go on the palkhi, for Vittala himself is in the hearts of every warkari."


Glossary 
aai = Mother
abhang = hymns composed by the great saints of Maharashtra.
Ashaadhi = the Hindu Calendar month during June-July
ashtavinayaka = the pilgrimage to eight sacred destinations in western Maharashtra, with eight of the most well-known temples to Lord Ganesha.
atya = Aunt, usually, father's sister.
bawa, bawaji = an affectionate word to call out to a Parsi, usually for men. Only if you are a close friend.
beti = Daughter
bhagawantha = God.
chapati = cooked wheat flat cakes, like a roti. An Indian-style tortilla.
dada = elder brother or grandfather
dhaba = roadside food place. With informal arrangements.
Dindis = the group-units of pilgrims participating in the wari.
Dnyanba = Sant Shri Dnyaneshwar of Alandi
keertan, keertankar = hymns sung as a song. The singer, usually a respected veteran, is known as a keertankar. Groups of devotees sing together with the keertankar and have established routines and sequences.
lungi = a sarong-type of dress, worn below the waist, comfortably with an easy tuck-in.
Maro Dikri = 'my daughter' - a favoured term in Parsi and Gujarati lingo.
Mauli = Devotee of Panduranga. Also a form of greeting in recognition of the other person's faith in Panduranga Vittala.
namaste = salutation, with folded hands, in front of the chest. In respect.
paadukas = the sacred symbolic feet-impressions of deities or sages
palkhi = the pilgrimage from Dehu-Sant Tukaram temple and Alandi-Sant Dnyaneshwar temple via Pune to Pandharpur in Solapur District, Maharashtra
policewallah = policeman
prasad = sacred offerings presented to the deities. Some part of it is usually returned to the devotee.
qaidi = prisoner
rath = chariot, usually pulled by oxen during the palkhi from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur
tai = Sister
Tuka, Tuka says, Tukaram = Sant Tukaram of Dehu. His renditions in praise of Panduranga Vittala are the abhangs that are remembered through hundreds of years. They are popularly known as "Tuka says..."
vaikhunta = passed away. Gone ahead to the great heavens above.
veena = stringed instrument used by warkaris to strum and recite
veenkari = the person who wears the veena around his neck and chants God's name.
wari = the annual June-July (ashaadhi) pilgrimage from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur.
warkaris =  traditional pilgrims - devotees of Panduranga Vittala, the deity at Pandharpur - who walk from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur, covering nearly 200 kms
Yaa = Come. A form of invitation in affection.

Panduranga Vittala!!! - the keertankar who sang alone in the rain, all night...

alone, a keertankar sings, all night.... 

the incessant rain, splatters mud all over, 

in darkness, sleeping pilgrims, O Vittala!!!

He had been given new orders and posting for three days and nights at Renapur, near Indapur and Solapur. This was an important staging point for the Sant Dnyaneshwar palkhi that came from Alandi via Pune and went ahead to Pandharpur in time for the Ashaadh Ekadashi. Mallikarjun was a police constable with the SRPF, posted at Amaravati, and had been given sudden orders to move with his colleagues to join duty in protecting and managing the palkhi and its lakhs of warkaris and dindis, who walked all the way to Pandharpur. He was at Renapur, and it was raining, and raining, and raining.

Mallikarjun was disgusted. This place was terrible. He had been asked to stay ready at the entrance to the camping grounds for the palkhi. When the lakhs of pilgrims would walk in and set up their camp, he had been asked to stay close to the main tent, in the police control space. They would set up a police tent, absolutely next to the main tent that would house the sacred paadukas of Sant Dnyaneshwar. All the local police constables had been given duty elsewhere, because they would have to maintain control over the possible trouble spots. The SRPF had been given duty all over the camping grounds, near the petrol stations and at the eateries nearby.

It was raining without any end. The entire camping ground was now slushy and seemed like it would soon transform into a lake. He had asked his senior officers if there was a back-up plan, if the camping ground was not usable. The senior officer had consulted the local police officer who assured them that they should not worry about the slush and the rain. They were told that the palkhi and the warkaris were used to the rain, and would be able to convert the entire slushy camping ground into a small city within an hour. He did not believe this assurance at all. How could this slushy ground be used, if at all. He had been used to going out with his colleagues to set up camping areas. They had been taught that one had to select the most dry of places, and ensure that the tents do not get wet from the damp grounds. And, this was certainly more than damp. Was this to be used for lakhs of pilgrims? It would be a terrible moment, he thought.

He had been instructed that the advance contingent of trucks and assorted vehicles would reach the camping grounds, at least 2-4 hours before the pilgrims would walk in. They had their own monitoring and coordination teams and they would manage on their own. His job was to keep a watch and ensure that there were no unruly elements or any surprise violence or breakdown in law and order. Already, the early stragglers and small pilgrim groups were moving in, and beginning to set up themselves near the closed shop fronts and open areas outside the camping ground. The local police had closed down vehicular traffic from the outskirts and would now only permit vehicles with special label-stickers and permits.

The vehicles started to drive in to the camping grounds in a disciplined manner. There were some volunteers with notebooks who were checking on the label-stickers and directing the vehicles to fixed locations in the ground. Within an hour, to Mallikarjun's surprise, the entire camping ground was being taken over, methodically, from the rear to the front. Tents were coming up, and water tanks were being filled up with hoses from the connections provided at strategic points on the ground. They seemed to know exactly how to go about everything. There was no confusion and there was no chaos. The organisational power was very obvious to everyone. The front area was unoccupied, and the vehicles carrying the main tent drove in now.

By nightfall, the tents were up, including the main tent, and the rath with Sant Dnyaneshwar's paadukas came in to the cheers and sounds of cymbals, drums and veenas and the chants of lakhs of warkaris who had gathered all about. The local people were very eager to get to see the main dindis and the rath. The palkhi organisers seemed to know that they should allow the locals to get their opportunity to seek blessings and they permitted it with splendid grace. Mallikarjun was impressed. This was his first posting in the palkhi and he had not expected such splendid organisational management. He had never been in an event of such magnitude and this was something to be proud of, to be proud of his people and his culture.

The local people started queuing up to seek a view of the paadukas and the warkaris were settling down for well deserved rest. Their respective groups started cooking and serving hundreds of thousands of dinners within an hour. Nowhere, perhaps nowhere in the world, could so many separate groups of people be able to coexist in such a peaceful and efficient manner. The senior SRPF officers came over to the main police control space and spoke to the palkhi organisers. Everything seemed to be in control. One of the officers came up to Mallikarjun and asked him to move over to the queue pavilion and retain his post at that spot for the entire night. That would be the most crucial place, he was advised, and he would have to be alert.

He settled in by taking across his chair and a bench to the queue pavilion. The viewing of the paadukas had been stopped and smaller groups were being allowed in through a side entrance in the main tent. About 2-3 groups of warkaris, with their keertankars and veenkaris had also settled in under the queue pavilion as it was raining outside. They sang together, and sometimes in a challenge to one another, and at other times, they sang in sequence, taking up one verse amongst each group. It was fascinating to watch the group singing in such splendid perfection. Mallikarjun had seen such groups at Amaravati and also at Ganagapur, his native village that was south of Solapur. But, he had not seen perfection in singing, as he saw tonight.

Very soon, it was midnight, and Mallikarjun was tired. It seemed that the keertankars were not tired at all. They kept singing, loudly, softly, sometimes in a group, and sometimes, led by a single veteran. They had not repeated any of their songs and they seemed to know many many more. Surprisingly, each and every warkari or keertankar sitting in the queue pavilion seemed to know all the songs that were being sung. It was amazing, indeed, thought Mallikarjun.

The rain had thinned down, and it was only a very slow drizzle. The keertankars noticed that the night was clearing up. They pointed it out to each other, and suddenly, they stood up in a huddle and walked out of the queue pavilion, and started singing under the sky, louder and louder. It was breathtaking. Some warkaris from the other tents came to the group and started singing with them. The tempo increased, and a couple of pilgrims with drums came in to the centre and started beating up a steady rhythm. Now, the dancing started. It was not like they were dancing to a rhythm. It was more like jumping up and down on the same spot, and after a sequence of 4-5 jumps, they would jump and turn around in the air, and come down with a burst of joy and a shout, "Vittala!!!"

The tempo kept increasing, and the entire group sang together and danced for about an hour before they started tiring. It was almost past midnight, and Mallikarjun had not noticed the time passing by. Very soon, it would be 4 am, and time for the pre-dawn prayers, and it would be good to get a few hours of sleep. But, the keertankars did not seem to feel the same. They kept singing at a lower tempo, and the crowd thinned out. The outer group settled in around the inner ones and went to sleep under the open sky. The main singers settled down, sat on the ground sheet that they had spread out, and quietened down. 3-4 keertankars and two veenkaris kept singing in a low tone.

After a while, everyone was quiet, except for one keertankar, accompanied by one or the other veenkaris who kept giving him support by strumming on their veenas. It was past one a.m., and Mallikarjun could not go to sleep, mesmerised, as he was watching the lone keertankar singing softly. He did not tire, and kept singing, one abhang after the other. Very soon, the veenkaris dropped off to sleep, and the keertankar picked up the veena and strung it over his shoulders and began to strum it and sing.

It was a melody that did not seem to know how to stop. The lone keertankar kept singing slowly, and kept walking about, as though he was putting everyone to sleep. Mallikarjun was totally beside himself, and got out of his chair and went up to the keertankar and bowed in respect and touched his feet. The keertankar blessed him and went about, walking around, singing and strumming. He was singing some complicated abhangs, none of the common or usual ones. These seemed to be in never ending verse.

Everyone seemed to be asleep. Not a person stirred. The entire campground was without sound, except for the odd vehicle that drove by on the adjacent roads. Mallikarjun was watching the lone keertankar, and kept hearing his melodious voice. His voice rang out across the hundreds of pilgrims and warkaris, all asleep. He could not catch the words, but could understand the rhythm. He did not tire, and he sang softly, and kept walking around, coming near Mallikarjun and going away from him. And yet, the voice did not fade away from his ears. This was like magic.

Suddenly, it started drizzling strongly and the rains came down steadily. All those who were sleeping out in the open, picked up their ground sheets and ran to the various tents and pavilions that had been set up on the camping grounds. They seemed to know their group tents, while the entire layout looked quite confusing to Mallikarjun. In a flash, everyone had come in and there was none left in the open ground. But, the lone keertankar continued, standing below a sign board and a small tree alongside it. He seemed to be unaffected by the rain, and continued to sing.

Nobody noticed him, at first, while Mallikarjun could not take his eyes away. His song rang out from the sounds of the rain, and slowly everyone began to watch him. It was past 2.30 a.m., and he kept singing alone. The rain was not heavy, but there was infrequent lightning. And each time that the lightning struck across the sky, it lit up the space around the lone keertankar, and he seemed to glow in radiance, singing out to himself, and to everyone who heard him.

The warkaris discussed among themselves, and selected two young men to go out and convince the lone keertankar to come in to the queue pavilion and be safe. The two men went out and returned, not being able to convince him. 2-4 senior keertankars came up to Mallikarjun and asked him to go out and bring the lone keertankar back with him. Agreeing with them, he went out in the rain, carrying an umbrella, and requested the lone keertankar to return with him. He did not seem to listen to him, and kept singing.

Mallikarjun was able to watch him, from up closely, and could not understand the energy that the songs were giving out. The lone keertankar's eyes were closed, and he sang, in ecstasy. He sang slow songs of love for his god, and he sang of wanting to go to Pandharpur, immediately. And later, he complained to his god, as to why did he make the journey so long, and why could he not come away from Pandharpur to him, and be with him. And immediately thereafter, he sang, again in complaint, as to why could he not make the journey much much longer, so that he could keep singing and singing and singing.

The melody was too stunning. The appeal was emotionally uplifting for Mallikarjun. He could not move away. Slowly, he went up to the lone keertankar and extended his own umbrella over his head to protect him from the rain. The rain drenched him entirely, and Mallikarjun did not notice it at all. He was totally captured by the song and rhythm of the lone keertankar who sang about his love for Vittala and his jealousy of all the noble souls who had sought and received his blessings. He sang about why did he have to go to Pandharpur, when he knew that his god was already with him. He knew that he would be protected and cared for, he sang to his god, and that he would be somewhere nearby, watching him.

For Mallikarjun, it was like being transported to some other dimension. He could not see anyone else. He could not see the camping ground any longer. He could not see the rain, and could not feel the damp. He could not see the queue pavilion and he could not see the night. He could only hear the song, and could only catch the rhythm of the veena, strumming in obedient and yet devoted companionship to the voice of the lone keertankar. There was nothing else. And then, in one sudden flash of light, that seemed to come for a very brief micro instant, the lone keertankar was transformed, and Mallikarjun could only see Vittala under the umbrella, carrying the veena and singing in a loving voice. The very next instant, the moment was gone, and Mallikarjun could see the lone keertankar, continuing to sing.

A moment later, the lone keertankar, stopped in his song, and smiled, and said to Mallikarjun, "Oh, Mauli! My gratitude to you. Thank you for the umbrella that you held to protect me. What is the protection for, but to avoid all the strings that bend back the arrow before it is released, isn't it? I knew that my Panduranga, my Vittala would not forsake me. Just a moment ago, when I was singing, calling out to him, for one brief moment there, I could see, that he had not forsaken me. I saw you, in one very brief moment, transformed, and I saw my Panduranga in you, standing there, protecting me. I am blessed, truly blessed, my Vittala."


Glossary 
abhang = hymns composed by the great saints of Maharashtra.
Ashaadhi = the Hindu Calendar month during June-July
ashtavinayaka = the pilgrimage to eight sacred destinations in western Maharashtra, with eight of the most well-known temples to Lord Ganesha.
atya = Aunt, usually, father's sister.
bawa, bawaji = an affectionate word to call out to a Parsi, usually for men. Only if you are a close friend.
beti = Daughter
bhagawantha = God.
chapati = cooked wheat flat cakes, like a roti. An Indian-style tortilla.
dada = elder brother
dhaba = roadside food place. With informal arrangements.
Dindis = the group-units of pilgrims participating in the wari.
Dnyanba = Sant Shri Dnyaneshwar of Alandi
keertan, keertankar = hymns sung as a song. The singer, usually a respected veteran, is known as a keertankar. Groups of devotees sing together with the keertankar and have established routines and sequences.
lungi = a sarong-type of dress, worn below the waist, comfortably with an easy tuck-in.
Maro Dikri = 'my daughter' - a favoured term in Parsi and Gujarati lingo.
Mauli = Devotee of Panduranga. Also a form of greeting in recognition of the other person's faith in Panduranga Vittala.
paadukas = the sacred symbolic feet-impressions of deities or sages
palkhi = the pilgrimage from Dehu-Sant Tukaram temple and Alandi-Sant Dnyaneshwar temple via Pune to Pandharpur in Solapur District, Maharashtra
policewallah = policeman
prasad = sacred offerings presented to the deities. Some part of it is usually returned to the devotee.
qaidi = prisoner
rath = chariot, usually pulled by oxen during the palkhi from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur
tai = Sister
Tuka, Tuka says, Tukaram = Sant Tukaram of Dehu. His renditions in praise of Panduranga Vittala are the abhangs that are remembered through hundreds of years. They are popularly known as "Tuka says..."
vaikhunta = passed away. Gone ahead to the great heavens above.
veena = stringed instrument used by warkaris to strum and recite
veenkari = the person who wears the veena around his neck and chants God's name.
wari = the annual June-July (ashaadhi) pilgrimage from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur.
warkaris =  traditional pilgrims - devotees of Panduranga Vittala, the deity at Pandharpur - who walk from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur, covering nearly 200 kms
Yaa = Come. A form of invitation in affection.

Panduranga Vittala!!! - the stubborn old man who listened to his own heart

it is that time again, that month...

time to walk, million million steps,

unable, I wait here, for you, O Vittala!!!

They were all shocked. The old man was adamant. He had suddenly declared that he would go away to walk with the lakhs of warkaris on the palkhi from Dehu and Alandi via Pune to Pandharpur. Zubin was always like that. Deciding suddenly, and resisting all arguments and going by his own wish. Beheram, his son, tried to convince him that this was not the age to suddenly go ahead and do something that a 75 year old had not done earlier. Kerban, his daughter-in-law, nodded vigorously. She added, for good measure, "We are Parsis, and this is not in our culture. Why do you want to go walking to Pandharpur, all the way in rain, sun and with so many people, for heaven's sakes?"

Zubin and Beheram smiled at Kerban's arguments. Beheram knew that such arguments would not work with his father. Questioning him about religious or spiritual  thought would never work. It had never worked over these many years, and Beheram had gradually come around to accepting universal values while remaining a Parsi, in his inner core. Zubin was an explorer, as his mother had told him, bless her. Beheram's mother sat in front of the TV at their house in near the Five Gardens at Dadar Parsi Colony, Mumbai, and did not enter the arguments. She knew her Zubin, and she knew her Beheram. They would end up doing whatever Zubin wanted to do, and they would do it with enthusiasm and genuine spirit.

As expected, the next day, a too-good Sunday that should not be wasted on anything but cooking and eating and sleeping, Beheram drove his Bullet 350CC motorbike, with his father, Zubin, on the pillion, from Mumbai to Pune. His father was all packed up and eager to be on the palkhi and to walk the many days to Pandharpur. Beheram did not find it strange at all. He expected it to happen, going by the sudden bouts of discussion that his father had been having with his friends from Pune. They had planned it carefully, having done many such journeys together.

They met up with the group of friends at the exit of the highway from Mumbai, near Dehu. They had been waiting for them at the junction before the Dehu cantonment. The friends had hired an airconditioned bus for support and logistics during the palkhi and they had determined that they would stay about 5-10 kms behind the entire group. They would walk about, join in the activities, move ahead and back, and not be a burden on the several groups of warkaris in their dindis. All friends were new to the palkhi. They did not want anyone to be worried about them and have to take care of them.

The group had registered themselves with the various helplines and the police. With all required permissions obtained, they had also placed a banner over their bus, proclaiming that they were with the pilgrimage. The palkhi had just about started from Dehu, and Zubin was impatient to get on with it. Sensing it, Beheram gave him a hug and drove back on his bike to Mumbai.

Zubin was happy. He looked forward to any excuse to get out of his house. At 75, he needed to get away. Beheram's mother was very content to stay at home and be with her friends, her grandchildren and to retain control over the kitchen. His friends had planned this out over the past month, and they had been quite enterprising. They were friends for many years now, and the group had also acquired some younger ones, sons, brothers, neighbors and support guys. They were a mixed group, businessmen, teachers, corporate honchos, tradesmen, including a police officer and a police constable, a customs officer from the Mumbai airport and a canteen manager. They had come together over the years in treks, expeditions and journeys and continued to travel together.

Very soon, they were on the move. They had decided against following the palkhi while on the route from Dehu towards Pune city. They drove out of the main route and went out of the city through the bypass to Katraj and went back to Hadapsar and drove out to Dive Ghat. They were now ahead of the palkhi by two days. They could use these two days to organise, plan, purchase and stock up. One of the group, Chaitanya Reddy, had given instructions to his office staff to purchase vegetables and groceries at Hadapsar and bring it over at Dive Ghat. His office manager had scouted a good parking location, away from the road, with water supply nearby. They would camp here, and plan their itinerary with the palkhi among all the members of the group. The late joiners would also be able to meet up with the group at this location.

The group set up their camp by  rolling out a tarpaulin sheet with one end attached to the side of the bus. The other end was set up with tall bamboo poles. This provided a large tent-like space alongside the bus. They had hired a cook and a helper for this pilgrimage, and along with the driver, lunch had been prepared, with everyone helping out, and it was time to rest, and look forward to the long walk that was to come. Just after lunch, it started drizzling and the rain began pouring in, steadily. The group moved inside the bus to seek shelter and sleep through a siesta during the noon. But, it was not to be...

There was a series of knocks on the side of their bus and a police constable opened the door and entered along with an undertrial prisoner with his hands cuffed. The handcuffs were tied to a thick rope that was held by the constable to prevent the prisoner from being able to escape. Arvind Adarkar greeted the constable on behalf of the group, "Ya, Mauli! Come in. Take some shelter from the rain. Are you on your way to Pune or to Pandharpur? Do not tell us that you are going to walk all the way to Pandharpur with your prisoner!!!"

The constable and the prisoner laughed. The constable explained that they had taken a lift in a private car after their bus had broken down with a puncture after Saswad, and now, the car had gone off the road due to the heavy rains on the ghat, and they had been walking down. He had to take the prisoner to the courts in Pune for a hearing on the morrow, and return to Pandharpur Tahsil Jail immediately thereafter. How he would cross the palkhi, he did not know, and perhaps he would take the train to Solapur and get back to Pandharpur before the pilgrims could take over the roads. They had seen the bus and tent nearby and guessed that they could take some respite from the rains outside.

Adarkar asked the cook and his helpers to make a round of hot tea for everybody and gave some towels to the constable and the prisoner to dry themselves up. Reddy gave a pair of t-shirts and lungis to them so that they could get out of their damp clothes. Very soon, after a cup of hot tea, the pilgrims were watching an unusual sight, with both the constable and the pilgrim out of their uniforms, and wearing identical t-shirts and lungis and  with the thick rope tied to each others' wrists. They had scrubbed themselves dry and now, none of them could tell them apart. Which one was the policeman and which one was the prisoner?

Zubin started laughing and had a tough time holding on to his hot cup of tea. He pointed to the policeman and the prisoner, and said, "Look! This is magic. They are both the same now. The policeman could be the qaidi and the prisoner could be the policewallah. What if the prisoner took the policeman to the courts at Pune tomorrow?!!!" Everyone laughed, including the two visitors. The policeman replied, "O Bawa, do you know that you are correct? This prisoner was caught while helping some old ladies on the palkhi, at night, while they were shivering and cold, and may have perhaps died. This idiot was a vagrant warkari, without any dindi or any group. He went and broke into a clothes store after Renapur and took out some woollen blankets and gave them to the women. He was caught by the shopkeeper and a police complaint was filed. He has a better heart than most policemen that I know."

The entire group looked up at this story, after all, this undertrial was also a pilgrim, a fellow warkari, and he should have been appreciated for his deed. Zubin was angry. He asked, "Who was the idiot shopkeeper who filed the complaint? Did the local police not know about the reason?" The policeman replied, "Everyone knew. This chap had no money with him and the local people were very angry with the pilgrims. Each year they come to their town and disturb them. Some shopkeepers are upset while most of them are happy to welcome the palkhi. Perhaps this shopkeeper had a really bad experience. Who knows?"

Zubin asked, "Now, what will happen to him? Who is going to help him? Have the police helped him get a lawyer? Does he have money to defend himself?" While the rest of the group were not surprised, the policeman was puzzled at the anger. Yet, he replied calmly, "Bawaji, you know the system, don't you? Do you think he has any chance? He does not even have any money to purchase a cup of tea. He has no brains. If he had any sense, he would not have broken into the shop. Now, if the magistrate is kind, he will release him on first offence and intentions and maybe place him on watch and ask him to report to the police station for six months. If the magistrate goes by the rule, this idiot will be in for six months at least."

The entire group looked at Zubin. They knew him from many years. They knew the way he thought and acted, right out of his heart. They waited. Zubin did not disappoint them. He burst out in anger, "Nonsense. This cannot be allowed to happen. He has to have a lawyer, and he has to be released. I want him released tomorrow. He has to come on the palkhi with us, and I will take him to Pandharpur. Or, I will not go. Let Panduranga wait for me. I cannot go to Pandharpur without this foolish boy."

All his friends nodded with him. They were not shocked or upset. This was the right thing to do. Adarkar also said in support, "Zubin, my friend, I say, let Panduranga wait for all of us. Let us get this done tomorrow at the courts." The policeman looked at the prisoner, and said, "See... did I not tell you? Your actions were noble. You did it in the service of Vittala's devotees. So what if some policemen and some shopkeepers were strict about it. They did their job and now, we see the miracle of Panduranga."

Zubin spoke to Adarkar and Reddy, "I will call my daughter-in-law's friends here in Pune. They are all lawyers at the local courts. They are very good and efficient. Wait a moment." Saying thus, he called up Kerban, at Mumbai, "Maro Dikri, listen. Yes, yes... I know. When I call you as 'Maro Dikri', it usually means that I am pulling some stunt. Yes. But listen, this is for a good cause. I need you to talk to your friends in Pune, lawyers, and have them come and meet me below Dive Ghat in Hadapsar. I need legal help in getting an undertrial released tomorrow in a hearing at the Pune Sessions Court."

"Yes, Maro Dikri, help me now, please. Talk to your friends. I have promised that I will not go to Pandharpur until and unless I free him, and now, my entire group of friends have also promised that they will not go on the palkhi. Don't laugh, Kerban. And do not tell Beheram about this. He is an idiot. He will also come back from Mumbai and will get involved in this. This is an easy job. I just need a lawyer, a smart lawyer, tomorrow morning, and by afternoon, we can get this foolish chap released and we will be on our way, following the palkhi."

After a while, Zubin shut off his cellphone, and spoke to the policeman, "There, that is done. Tomorrow we will go to the court together. My daughter-in-law will get us some lawyers, and they will bring their vehicles, and we will get this idiot released immediately. I am sure that those lawyers will have a thousand reasons to give to prove that this fellow is innocent." The policeman replied, "Thank you. I was worried about this fellow. He seems really demented, going around helping people without any reason. What relation was he to those two women? Why did he have to help them? Nothing. None."

Zubin replied, "What do we know? We must be related. All of us. You also. Otherwise, why would you bring him here, today, in the rain? Why would your bus break down? Why would the car go off the road? Each and every problem that we face, daunting ones too, they lead us towards a solution, however miraculous it may be. Now, both of you stay in this bus. Do not go anywhere. We will go to the courts together, tomorrow."

Saying thus, Zubin turned to the prisoner and said, "Be careful. Keep a watch on the policeman. Do not let him get away. We have to take him to the courts together tomorrow. We will ask the courts to release the policeman from his job of escorting you. We will go to Pandharpur together, only if you are a free man. I am sure that Panduranga will wait for us to meet him, together, the two of us."


Glossary 
Ashaadhi = the Hindu Calendar month during June-July
ashtavinayaka = the pilgrimage to eight sacred destinations in western Maharashtra, with eight of the most well-known temples to Lord Ganesha.
atya = Aunt, usually, father's sister.
bawa, bawaji = an affectionate word to call out to a Parsi, usually for men. Only if you are a close friend.
beti = Daughter
bhagawantha = God.
chapati = cooked wheat flat cakes, like a roti. An Indian-style tortilla.
dada = elder brother
dhaba = roadside food place. With informal arrangements.
Dindis = the group-units of pilgrims participating in the wari.
Dnyanba = Sant Shri Dnyaneshwar of Alandi
lungi = a sarong-type of dress, worn below the waist, comfortably with an easy tuck-in.
Maro Dikri = 'my daughter' - a favoured term in Parsi and Gujarati lingo.
Mauli = Devotee of Panduranga. Also a form of greeting in recognition of the other person's faith in Panduranga Vittala.
paadukas = the sacred symbolic feet-impressions of deities or sages
palkhi = the pilgrimage from Dehu-Sant Tukaram temple and Alandi-Sant Dnyaneshwar temple via Pune to Pandharpur in Solapur District, Maharashtra
policewallah = policeman
prasad = sacred offerings presented to the deities. Some part of it is usually returned to the devotee.
qaidi = prisoner
rath = chariot, usually pulled by oxen during the palkhi from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur
tai = Sister
Tuka, Tuka says, Tukaram = Sant Tukaram of Dehu. His renditions in praise of Panduranga Vittala are the abhangs that are remembered through hundreds of years. They are popularly known as "Tuka says..."
vaikhunta = passed away. Gone ahead to the great heavens above.
veena = stringed instrument used by warkaris to strum and recite
wari = the annual June-July (ashaadhi) pilgrimage from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur.
warkaris =  traditional pilgrims - devotees of Panduranga Vittala, the deity at Pandharpur - who walk from Dehu-Alandi-Pune to Pandharpur, covering nearly 200 kms
Yaa = Come. A form of invitation in affection.