Panduranga Vittala!!! - the boy whose absence did not matter to anyone...

in white, millions, 

walking, chanting.... 

immersed, O Vittala!

Rameshwar was very upset and angry. He did not want to go to see the palkhi or walk with the warkaris. The 14-year old youngster was keen to attend his inter-school selection trials for Pune district. He had practiced and got himself ready for the selection trials through the past year. He had represented his school and made them proud. Mr. Venkat, the cricket coach for his school was very excited about Rameshwar’s future. He was sure that, this year at last, a boy from his school would be selected to represent Pune schools’ cricket team. But now, Rameshwar’s parents and family were getting ready to participate in the palkhi and they wanted to be with the warkaris for at least 4-5 days.

His family was very keen to go on the palkhi and it was a family tradition that everyone would participate, walk, serve and provide support. His father, Mukundrao Kulkarni, had purchased a hundred semi-woollen blankets to be given to those who would need them in the palkhi, while his uncles had similarly procured raincoats, slippers, caps, medicines and floor-mats. His mother had prepared at least 500 food packets of dry snacks that would be good-to-eat for more than 3-4 days while on the palkhi. His grandfather, Shyamrao Kulkarni, was very keen to be part of the palkhi and walk for some part of the day for the next 4-5 days.

Rameshwar figured that it would be good to speak to his grandfather and present the request that he may be allowed to go to the cricket team selections and not participate in the palkhi with the family. In any case, who would notice that he was not in the great walk, since there would be hundreds of thousands of warkaris walking from Dehu and Alandi to Pandharpur. Gathering up courage, the youngster cornered his grandfather when he was in a good mood and presented his case. He could see that his grandfather was not agreeing with him, and therefore he presented his grand argument – who would notice his absence, when there were so many in the palkhi?

That argument seemed to have won his case, for his grandfather agreed to speak to the family. They had a family conference, his parents, his grandfather, his uncles, and elder sisters. He sat quietly, away from the dinner table, pretending to check and clean his cricket kit. His father and grandfather were discussing the issue between them, and finally he heard his grandfather present his best argument, as to who would notice his absence. Everybody smiled at that statement, including his uncles, who normally did not agree with his cricket and other hobbies. Rameshwar’s mother kept smiling and laughing and said, “Yes.... he does not know... who will actually notice his absence. Let him go to his cricket. He will learn about his absence.”

Mukundrao Kulkarni spoke to his son, “You know that you are a big boy now. You can take your own decisions. There was no need to speak to your grandfather first. You could have told me or your mother. Anyway, let it be. Go for your cricket selection trials. After all, we have purchased the best cricket set for you, and it cost a lot of money. And, you have practiced for the trials through this year and you played well in some of the matches.” Then, there seemed to be a moment, for they were all smiling at him, including his grandfather. His mother spoke, adding to his father’s permission, and she was smiling when she said, “Go to your cricket. There is no need to worry about the palkhi. After all, as you said, who will notice your absence?”

Rameshwar was puzzled about their amusement at his grand argument, but he was happy that he had gotten away from the palkhi. His family was to leave for the pilgrimage within an hour or so, and he picked up his cricket kit, extra running shoes and track suit and whatever, and escaped from the house. The stadium and selection trials location was nearby and he walked it up to the grounds. The other boys were already there, and he could see that Mr. Venkat, the cricket coach, was looking angry and upset at his late arrival. There were cricket coaches from other schools and the selection team from the district cricket board was busy writing notes.

Mr. Venkat rushed him to the nets and got him ready and had him batting it out against a series of bowlers of all types. There were pacers, medium pacers and spinners. He kept his wicket, and played it cautiously in the beginning, and later opened out, cracking the balls all about the ground. After all, he had the best cricket bat that money could buy, and the best cricket kit that any school boy could have. He had had the best training and he knew that he was the best in the ground, in the selection trials. He could now see the smile on Mr. Venkat.

His cricket bat was making the sweetest of sounds as it hit the leather ball. Clean, sharp and a very loud sound that could be heard by the selectors. There was another boy, at the nets alongside his, and he was hitting the ball hard, but the sound was not as sharp or loud as his bat could. Rameshwar looked at the boy with disdain, for his clothes were soiled, and his bat looked very old. He was trying his best, for he had also kept his wicket through the tryout, and he was hitting the ball hard, but the difference between the two was very obvious.

Their batting time slot was over, and Rameshwar and the scrappy looking boy walked to the tents that had been set up. Rameshwar went to his school tent, while the other boy was sitting out in the open, amongst other similar looking boys. He asked his coach, “Sir, why are those boys sitting in the open? Does their school not have a tent like ours?” Mr. Venkat replied, “No. Those boys are not from any particular school in Pune. They are from the rural schools. They are selected in a group and they come here from different villages. They are not from any single school. The tents belong to the schools that have brought them here.”

Rameshwar was told that there would be time for the selections to be announced. They would initially name a list of thirty boys, and there would be a second round of selections, and they would later name a list of fifteen. Knowing that there would be time, Rameshwar went off to walk around the canteen and the other food-stalls that were outside the stadium. There were food-stalls serving simple vada pav and misal pav. One of the good food-stalls was also serving a simple pizza and burgers. That would be good, he thought, and he had been given a good amount of money to take care of himself for the next 4-5 days. He was King of himself, for the next few days, and he could easily afford to treat himself to a pizza, he thought.

The boys from his school and other ‘tent-schools’ rushed off to the various food-stalls, while Rameshwar was quietly do the arithmetic of the amount of money that he had been given and the amount that he could comfortably spend on the ‘good’ food-items versus the ‘okay’ food-items. Let the beginning be good, he thought, and let it be with a pizza and a coke. As he walked up to the stall, he saw the scrappy boy from the nets walking about, looking at the price lists of the various food-stalls. He saw him walk out of the food mall and walk to a pavement hawker selling bananas. The boy got two bananas for himself and came back to the food mall and sat at the table that Rameshwar was sitting with his pizza and coke. 

Rameshwar was worried. His mother had taught him that he should always share his food. And now, this boy from rural Pune was sitting in front of him, with two bananas, and obviously with very less money. He had his precious pizza and coke, and his mind went about like, "Share! Do not Share! Share! Do not Share!" Giving up on the dilemma, Rameshwar split his pizza and offered it to the scrappy boy, who said, "Bhau! Thank you. I do not know what it is. I have heard the word 'pizza' but I do not know if it is vegetarian or non-vegetarian. I do not know these good looking food items. And today is the first day of the palkhi, so, I went and got myself these two bananas. My parents had told me to eat only 'good' food."

He felt like he had been slapped by his mother. His parents, uncles and grandfather had not eaten anything in the morning, and they had decided to first seek the blessings of Sant Dnyaneshwar's palkhi rath and only later would they eat something simple. Anyway, this boy did not know that his family was going to the palkhi, so it would not matter. In any case, he could now eat the entire pizza. But, the boy was saying something, and he listened, "Bhau! Here, you can have one banana. I will get some more. My family is at the palkhi and they told me that the prayers would be at 11 am, and I can safely eat anything else after that."

Rameshwar quietened his mind and relaxed at the boy's sincerity. He asked him, "Where are you from? How come you had that old bat that could not hit the ball with force? You kept your wicket intact through the entire trials, and yet, it may difficult to impress the selectors." The boy replied, "I am Govind, and I am from Junnar. My school has a good cricket team, and we won some of the regional tournaments. My school has sent our team players to Mumbai for selections in some of the companies that play Kanga league. That way our boys will get jobs in Mumbai. That's why I have the oldest bat from the school. All the good bats and kit were taken by the boys who need jobs."

Puzzled, Rameshwar asked, "Do you not need a job then? Why are you here for the selection trials for inter-school teams?" Govind, the scrappy boy replied, "I did want to go with them. But, I could not get permission from my family. They have already left for the palkhi and will be at Alandi today. They gave me permission to attend the selection trials and I will be joining them today in the evening at Pune city. I am sure that the selectors will not select me, for I do not have a good bat, and I do not look as good as the city boys. I know that I am good, and I would be a good player, but, I cannot compete against the good schools in the city. I wanted to try out, and I wanted to keep my wicket and show that I am a good player. Rest, I leave it up to Panduranga."

"Panduranga? How is he going to help?" asked Rameshwar, "You need to compete properly, don't you? You have to do your work. How can a god come and help you in the selection trials?" Govind, the scrappy boy, smiled, raised his hands and gestured at the heavens and went away to the stadium. Rameshwar finished eating up his pizza and coke and went to his school tent. Mr. Venkat was eating up his lunch, and asked for all the boys to check their cricket kits and get ready for the second round of selection. Rameshwar looked out at the open ground to locate Govind, who was sitting under the hot sun, looking very happy and content. 

The selection lists were announced and the thirty boys lined up. Rameshwar stood next to Govind, and looked happy for him. Govind was also smiling, and told him, "See, you asked about Panduranga. He sees, and he knows. He knows that I am absent from the palkhi, and he wants me there, with my parents, and he wants me to come to him, walking all the way. He does not want me here in the cricket team. Mind you, I am sure that I will not be in the final fifteen. But, I am going to go out there, and give it my best." 

Again, Rameshwar felt the slap from his mother. He closed his eyes. He could see her. She was smiling. She was saying, "Do not worry, my son. Go ahead and play. Nobody will notice your absence. Win your place in the team and make us proud. We have spent a lot of money in your cricket and you should not let us down. We want to see you in the team." They were together again, he and Govind, paired up for the third round of nets, to bat it out side by side. 

He looked at Govind, slowly and without making it obvious. He did not have cricket shoes. He seemed to have coloured them white, using some paint, but they were definitely not cricket shoes. His trousers were two sizes larger, and must have been borrowed. The gloves were torn, and so were the pads. He had placed white tape over the spots, but they had become dirty and it was easily seen. The bat was perhaps from some very old times, and had been used for many many years. But, it looked strong and capable. Govind looked up at Rameshwar and was smiling, and said, "You are looking at my kit. Yes. I know that I do not have a good kit for playing today. But, I am in the final selection. So that means, that this bat has some value at least. I will go back to join my family in the palkhi and will tell them that I tried my best, but that Panduranga Vittala had other plans for me. They will understand."

Mr. Venkat was standing nearby and he had heard the entire discussion. In one brief moment, Rameshwar made up his mind and looked at Mr. Venkat. He seemed to understand and perhaps he could guess as to what was to happen. Rameshwar spoke to Govind, and said, "Here, take my bat and my kit. You go out and play the best you can. I will take my chance in the next nets after you. I will take back my  kit. This is your best chance. You keep talking about Panduranga Vittala, and that he will notice your absence in the palkhi. That is not possible. You have to give your best where you are, and not worry about him."

Govind, the scrappy boy seemed to be about to break out in tears. They changed their kits rapidly, and he went out to show his skills. Mr. Venkat replaced Rameshwar's place with another boy from the same school. Both of them watched Govind smash the bowlers all over the stadium. They could see the difference in the batting, and the change in the boy's confidence. He was enjoying himself. Mr. Venkat turned to Rameshwar and asked him if he would like to take his place in the next round of nets. 

Rameshwar replied, "No, Sir. Let that boy keep my kit. He is a good player. You may please forgive me. I will leave the selection trials and go and join my family at the palkhi. They would be waiting for me. Please tell him that I wanted him to have the entire cricket kit. I am leaving my kit bags also for him along with the shoes and track suits. I cannot carry them with me in the palkhi. Tell him to call me on my cellphone and let me know the names of his parents and the number of their dindi. I will meet them and tell them that he could not join them on the palkhi. And that it does not matter, for who will notice his absence in the palkhi?"

Within a couple of hours, Rameshwar was at the outskirts of Alandi, and had spoken to his sister and figured out the location of his family. The entire family was at a stall of a volunteer group and were helping out. They had already distributed the stuff that they had brought with them, and his grandfather was just about completing his two hour walk with the palkhi. Nobody seemed surprised to see Rameshwar join them at the stall. The uncles were smiling and so was his father and mother. Shyamrao, his grandfather, came up and saw Rameshwar standing with the family and asked, "What happened? Did you not get selected?"

"I was about to get selected, but then, I gave away my kit bag and cricket bag, shoes and track suits to a boy from Junnar. He did not have a good kit with him, and he was playing very good cricket," Rameshwar replied, "His parents are also on the palkhi, and he was sure that he would not get selected, and so he wanted to join his parents and walk with them on the entire palkhi. He was sure that Panduranga Vittala would notice his absence in the palkhi, and therefore would not select him for the inter-school tournaments. He did not have any idea of how good a cricketer he was. So, I gave him my entire kit."

He waited for their anger, and his father's comments about how he had wasted their money on the best cricket kit that there could be, as he often said. But, they were all smiling and laughing at him. His mother said, "Rameshwara, O Rameshwara, you were the one who said that your absence would not matter. And you are worried that the other boy's absence would indeed matter? See... Do you see what happened? Your absence did matter to Panduranga Vittala, and he wanted you here, with us. And you gave that boy's parents the happiness that they would want, for they did not want their son with them. They wanted their son to achieve what was due to him, and you helped them. There is no mystery in his ways, my son." 


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.
bhau = brother
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.
misal pav = snack dish. Comprising deep-fried and soaked cereals and savouries immersed in a curry with bread loaves. 
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
Sabarimala yatra = pilgrimage in Kerala to Lord Ayyappa.
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..."
upma = dish made of semolina.
vada pav = a snack, with origins from Maharashtra - comprising a bread loaf sandwiching a deep-fried potato dish.
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 reluctant pilgrim who enjoyed the pilgrimage

faces in prayer, strangers all.... 

greetings in recognition, in each one, 

they see you, again, again, O Vittala!!!

He had gotten away from his dindi in the Sant Dnyaneshwar palkhi. It was the fourth day and this was Mohan Menon's first palkhi. He was content to walk slowly, move about amongst the other groups, watch everything that was happening, and enjoy the momentum of thee hundreds of thousands of devotees walking from Dehu and Alandi to Pandharpur. The energy was tremendous. They were smiling, laughing and singing and chanting. Some groups suddenly would break into a synchronised dance, and in one amazing moment, they would stop and resume walking. Most devotees, walking by themselves, were looking very serious, and were chanting, "Om Ram Krishna Hari", and did not seem to participate in the activities of the groups.

He had gotten away from his house in Mumbai, just on the persuasion of his neighbour from Pune. Mr. Purushottam Pandit joined the palkhi each year and completed the entire journey. Mohan was familiar with the Sabarimalai yatra in Kerala and knew of the duration, intensity and preparations of the pilgrims. Just hearing about it and all, had been terrifying. Pandit had assured him that hte palkhi was not as intense, and it would be a very relaxing walk. "You will not feel the strain!" He had claimed.

Trusting him, Mohan had agreed to accompany him and join the dindi, one of the oldest ones and very traditional, and of course very disciplined and intense. He had been waiting for an opportunity to get away, and he slowed his walk and got out of the group. The rest of the palkhi seemed to be more interesting. There was quite a lot of stuff that was happening. Away from the palkhi, the logistics of voluntary groups providing support was tremendously overwhelming.

Mohan went up to one of the stalls offering breakfast snacks and water. The volunteer glanced at his ID badge from his dindi and immediately gave him a paper plate containing hot upma and a paper cup with hot tea. It was free. It felt like cheating, thought Mohan, but the early morning tea at the night camp in his dindi, was all that he had. Another volunteer, watching him and realising his awkwardness, came up and said, "Kaka, we have set up toilets and bath facilities nearby. You are welcome to use them, if you want." Mohan was tempted. It had been difficult to get used to the group bathing with cold water in the pre-dawn hours. But, he had been enthusiastic about it, for the past two days. It had been in good fun.

Thanking the volunteer, Mohan went about taking care of his personal needs, along with a good leisurely bath. It was heavenly. They gave him a second cup of hot tea, that was more than welcome, better than the first one, and he went back to exploring the palkhi after thanking the volunteers. They just smiled and did a brief namaste and waved him off. It was fascinating to see the various aspects of this, one of the greatest congregations of people in the world for a long duration at one place. They dressed in a humble manner and yet, one could notice that the affluent were also among them, without any pretenses, and similarly dressed. The all-women-dindis were better organised, he felt, and they were laughing happily and singing in a proper manner, very rhythmically.

Mohan kept walking alongside the palkhi. The diversity and flow of energy was overwhelming. The discipline and order was very obvious. The police force almost had nothing to intervene about other than to make their presence felt. There were all sorts of roadside shanties set up, with food of different costs. There were shanties and stalls that announced free food and water, while there were notices that offered the services of local womens' groups for cooking and serving. It was amazing, Mohan felt, that people wanted to just give and give and give, happily.

He noticed a bright yellow Nano car, ahead of him, parked away from the road, near an open well, where pilgrims were using the water from some open tanks. An elderly lady stepped out of the car and walked up to the roadside and sat on a dirty bench in front of a shanty. She was dressed impeccably, in an almost offensive chiffon saree, but carried it with good grace. "Offensive", as Mohan felt, to the ambience of the humble pilgrim in the palkhi, but, who was  he to question, he thought. Even a rich person has a right to their devotion, he told himself.

Curious, he watched her from a nearby spot. She must have sensed it, for she turned and looked at him directly for a while. Later, she waved to Mohan and asked him to come nearer. Startled, Mohan went up to her, and as she gestured, sat on the bench, next to her. The lady smiled and said, "You were staring. You think I do not fit in here, do you? I do not qualify to be a devotee?" Mohan was surprised, and replied, "How did you know? Truly speaking, I was thinking the very same."

The elderly lady in the chiffon replied, "I get these looks each year. I come to the palkhi every year. I am not able to walk, but I want to be in the palkhi, and I travel with the group from Alandi to Pune to Pandharpur. I sit alongside the palkhi during the daytime, watch the people go by, enjoy their devotion, soak in their energy, and I am alive again. This energy keeps me going every year. By the evening, I drive back to the nearest town, where I have a team who take care of my arrangements in a good lodge-stay and I get back in the morning. From what I see, you are new to the palkhi."

Wow, thought Mohan. How did she know? He smiled, but the puzzle must have been obvious, for the elderly lady in the chiffon, continued, "How do I know? You are walking about slowly, enjoying every sight, and trying to absorb everything. The others are engrossed in their devotion, and they see only one aspect. In each one of their minds, in their eyes and in their walk, they have only one aspect. They see their meeting with Panduranga Vittala on Ashaadh Ekadasi at Pandharpur."

Mohan replied, "Yes. I noticed their focused determination and devotion. This is my first palkhi. I came because my neighbour convinced me to come and join in the walk. He comes every year and he talks about the palkhi and about how he gets transformed each year. I wanted to see how it happens. I retired last year, and I have plenty of time. You said you have a team? Where are they? They do not come with you to the palkhi? Are you a very rich woman, then? But, you have only a Nano car, and you have no driver. I noticed that you were driving the car."

"I drive the Nano myself," she replied, "because it is very easy to get inside the palkhi and park at a good spot. I come early, before the pilgrims reach here. I pick a spot and wait nearby. Some of the volunteer groups know me from these many years. But, my spots are the same that I come to, each year, and so, the local villagers know me. They invite me to their homes. Yes. I am what you may say, 'very rich', as I run 2-3 companies in Mumbai. My health is failing me, and I am not in good condition. I cannot do many things now, and I cannot take risks with my food."

Mohan smiled, and answered, "My retirement has just begun. I feel there are many more adventures with health that are just waiting to begin now. Why do you come? You can easily visit the palkhi and drive straight ahead to Pandharpur and organise your opportunity for some VVIP entry on Ashaadh Ekadashi!!! Why sit here, and see the palkhi, every day,  unable to walk, and unable to participate? Do you feel content? Is it something that you really wanted to do?"

The elderly lady in the chiffon laughed at his questions, and replied, "Do you know that all these people who walk to Pandharpur, may not actually be able to get inside the inner sanctum of the Pandharpur temple on Ashaadh Ekadashi? Nearly 80% of these pilgrims know that they would not be able to get inside. Yet, they travel, each year. They make it inside on the next day or the after. They get to see their god for about 2-3 seconds, and then they are pushed aside and made to rush out. Yet, they travel. They would not be happy if they were not to be pushed about. It is that fragile moment that they crave for."

"It was my husband who used to walk the entire pilgrimage." she continued, "I would then accompany him to drop him off at Pune, and stay in the city and meet our friends and business partners, and later, drive ahead to Pandharpur and make arrangements for him. We would then drive back to Mumbai. He walked for three years only. Now, he is no longer with me. He has gone ahead, ten years ago, to the great temple above, to be with his favourite Panduranga Vittala. He wanted that and he achieved it."

Mohan was stunned, and saddened. He said, "I am sorry. It must be a terrible thing to happen in one's life. So, you have been coming here, these past ten years, to relive those moments? To enjoy the palkhi as he would have enjoyed the moment and the walk? That is indeed so appropriate, emotionally. You must be happy that you are experiencing whatever brought happiness to your husband, don't you? But, he must have had his dindi. Don't you join them, even for a day?"

The elderly lady in the chiffon seemed to be angry, but replied in a calm manner, "I do not come to enjoy the palkhi as he would have. That is so irrational, to think it out like that. I come because I can get away from my house and from my business for these many days. Here, I am nobody. I struggle to stay unknown here. Of course, they must be pointing out to me because of my costly clothes and my car and all that, but now, I am a part of the palkhi. I enjoy sitting here, and after some time, I will walk to another spot, across the road, or visit one of the villager's homes. I know these families now. I know their children and they know me."

"But, do you know what is irrational and yet welcome? here, in this palkhi?" She asked Mohan, and said, "I see the warkaris, walking by, intent on their destination, and it helps me determine my strategies back at work. I am now more determined, and more focused. I see the teamwork in the dindis, the unquestioned discipline and their timing, and I carry it back with me to the people I meet, at my house, in my extended family and in my businesses. I demand the same teamwork. If so many people who do not meet each other for the rest of the year can work and move and worship together, and yet stay singular, then it can be acquired by others, who are required to do it."

Mohan looked at the passing warkaris again, in a new perspective. She was correct. How did these groups achieve and maintain such discipline? How did they not break up? The palkhi had been going on for more than 400 years in this manner, and how did it continue? There were no written handbooks or manuals. The palkhi was not certified for ISO 9001 or anything similar. How did these people work with each other in such an easy and approachable manner? How did they provide help, support and guidance to so many hundreds of thousands of people in such a selfless manner?

He nodded at what he was seeing, and spoke to the elderly lady in the chiffon, "Yes. I see what you say. I had never thought about it in this manner. But, this is only my first palkhi. I am sure, however, that you are not sitting here merely for management inputs in taking care of your businesses. Your husband must have guided them with this thought process in a similar manner, and you must be only continuing with them. Perhaps your team and employees are listening to you only because they feel sorry for you, since you are running your businesses alone?"

She smiled, "I agree with you," she said, "It could be that. But, I was not a business person when he was alive. I was just an independent housewife, with very stubborn thinking, and taking care of the household, socialising with our business partners and their families, and joining up with my husband in all the various activities that he would undertake, even in the palkhi. He used to say strange things, then, and I used to laugh at them. He used to say that for him, his god was in each one of his employees, and in their families. He used to say, that his god was in each one of us, and he would always speak very affectionately with anyone, including our driver, or the housemaid, and would ask about their families and all that. I would find it very strange, but I got used to it."

"Now, I come here, each year, and I sit here, and I ask him, where did you see this god, where did you see Panduranga Vittala in the warkaris?" She said, jokingly, "But, I know. Over these many years, I have come to know, that you do not need to see. You know. In the small girls who stand near their homes, while they see the palkhi passing by, in the shopkeeper of this shanty, who cooks food for the warkaris, and in the volunteers who make tea and breakfast, and offer it without any cost. You know that he is with them. I may not be so fortunate, and yet, I see you. Someone who just came out of his house, because his neighbour asked him to join him. How did you decide?"

"Do you feel the energy? Do you feel the vibrations?" She asked Mohan, "I know that you do. Why would you be so happy in walking about in the palkhi, outside your dindi? My husband used to do the same. His friends told me about it. He could not bear the discipline, and he would walk about. And then, he would come home and praise and praise and praise the discipline. He never told us that he broke the group and went walking about all around the palkhi."

The elderly lady in the chiffon pointed at the all-women-dindi that was walking by. She said, "I would have never been able to walk with them with such enthusiasm. I would never have been able to continue to sing and chant for so many days. Yet, I come here, each year, and sit and admire them. They show me the courage that my husband used to pretend to have. So what if you cannot be part of the group. You are more blessed, for you get to move about and see Panduranga Vittala in so many more warkaris. I do the same. I sit here, and watch them, and watch the glow in their faces and the happiness in their eyes. I see him, within each one of them."

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
Sabarimala yatra = pilgrimage in Kerala to Lord Ayyappa.
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..."
upma = dish made of semolina.
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.