Meditations on Life III

Meditations on Life (Contd.)

We study history and listen to grand parents’ stories for a reason. Such readings help us develop character and give us a broad perspective on life and the world. Often we tend to confine our thoughts and analyses to our own limited circumstances; and thus unknowingly we dwell too much on our own situation, at times bordering on self-pity. But even in the best of conditions, “life is a predicament (George Santayana)” – you might say it, the essence of “modern diagnosis”.  When we are young, everything and everybody influences us; mostly such an influence acts to our detriment. The Sanskrit quote warns us thus: “Your own intellect will give happiness. The guru’s advice (intellect) will lead to a better path in life. But other’s advice (cf. peer pressure in modern societies) can lead to disaster.” We should keep such ancient words of wisdom close to our hearts and carefully examine (evaluate) them in real life. At least much of the teenage angst (or call it the youth’s crisis/alienation) can be avoided if one has a ‘holistic view’ of the individual experience in the larger context.

I was then in the rural upper elementary school (here it would be middle school). The day started like any other normal day with the morning classes of Telugu, science, and math. But right after the Morning Prayer (or Pledge), the normal routine got suspended for small pox vaccine shot. As per the district health officer’s orders, the entire school need to be inoculated – all the kids with no exception. So, there were peons, teachers, and senior students watching every exit, bathroom, and compound (border) wall. The visiting male nurse rapidly set up his operation on the table in front of us. It was a very sparse setting – a small alcohol lamp, few clean ceramic-coated pots for sterilizing, a pair of rotary lancets, and the vials of vaccine. Some of the children were a bit apprehensive, scared of the vaccination. In those days many children never got any shots (injections) and were protected from doctors, nurses, the accompanying needles, lotions, gauges, and Dettol smelling dressings, etc. Suddenly I was the sacrificial goat from the front row with my outstretched hand for the puncture. He started to ease my fears by asking about breakfast. I sheepishly replied, “Nothing much, just mango pickle, rice, and a little curd.” “That must be yummy!” Before I knew it, he gently scratched the forearm skin with the sharp lancet and administered the vaccine. We’re all advised to keep the two spots dry, away from water. But children are children! And of all the things, itching and scratching are involuntary natural reactions to “dermatological injury”.

Then the painful saga ensued. Some how a crazy idea got into my little mind. It was not mother’s advice. Either one of my classmates or the neighbor’s child planted a strange thought: “Put a bit of cow dung on the spot, rub it, and then wipe it off with top soil. Then wash it thoroughly with soap and water. Then you won’t get any bad reaction like fever or topical scar due to the vaccine.” Of course, who wants fevers or pus filled wounds? Besides children are very keen not to miss school or games with fellow kids. For happy children, there are more things to play than twenty-four hours in a day. So, immediately after coming home I did exactly that and washed the wound after putting all the muck on the spot. Within a day or two I was awfully sick with high fever and sore lesions and blisters on my arm. We’d never know whether I could’ve avoided the serious reaction by adhering to proper hygiene. The subcutaneous injection of small pox vaccine did produce serious adverse reactions in children. Mother did all the prayers, penance, vows, and care. But it took almost two weeks. I was in the bed with fever during the pleasant rainy season, barely surviving on milk. Certainly the divine help came through to pull me out. Even after several weeks I used to apply a coconut paste (made from baby coconut fruit acorns) on the quarter-sized pockmarks to relieve the pain and itching. Many years later I learnt to handle the skin. In most cases the skin heals itself. It needs no medicine other than pure petroleum jelly or oil (coconut, sesame, castor, mustard, or olive). Most interventions (on skin growths) with scalpel, needle, or abrasion will lead to disastrous results. Even the herbal doctor (Tata/Grandfather) of Sri Ramana shed tears at the horrible surgeries done to the great rishi. At least most of the (Maharishi’s) pain and discomfort could have been avoided – so it appears now. 

Why me? Why did I get all the childhood ailments? There is no answer. Perhaps, those were some precious lessons, lessons to instruct me in faith and discover my own “Swa-dharma”. Maybe, it was all part of the search for the Guru.

Our life in the village was hard but our loving parents acted as shock absorbers. They provided us with plenty amidst extreme penury. They hid all the troubles from our eyes. During Diwali festivals father helped us in making firecrackers. At home we fabricated our own stuff with raw ingredients. I still remember storing all the materials under the bed and drying them in the open sun in the front yard. There was one terrible accident involving my eyes. On the new moon day, we put on clean clothes, and gorged on mother’s sweet dishes. In the evening we lighted all our firecracker collection. That means two or three dozens of sparklers, half a dozen spinning wheels, handful of tiny bombs, several flowerpots, and we lit the dark star-studded sky with many rockets. Ideally, that should have satisfied most children. Mother secretly hid some firecrackers for future use, for the coming festivals. 

Next morning when I looked at the street I noticed lots of unexploded firecrackers (ordnance). There was one Lakshmi brand 4-inch bomb looking pitiably at me, telling me, “They did not play with me. See, I got left out!” Immediately after returning from school I hurriedly finished lunch and rushed out into the garden. Daily I used to volunteer for making hot water for the family on wood stove outdoors. The embers were still there hot and I inserted the firecracker (explosive) into the fireplace. As there was no bamboo blower pipe around, I went on blowing air with mouth puffs. Then suddenly, there was a big explosion and my eyes went totally dark. Somehow I walked blindly towards the front porch, crying for mother. We rushed immediately to our local doctor’s (Dr. P. V. Rao) clinic. His quick diagnosis and tight gauge bandage saved my vision. The topical ophthalmic gel cream eventually cleared the aluminum oxide smoke; but I had to anxiously wait till the evening, about four hours counting every minute. By then my tuition master (word had spread at lightning speed in the village) came around to see me. He tested my sight from six feet distance with three out-stretched fingers, teasingly asking me, “How many digits?” 

Now looking back I again humbly pay my gratitude to mother and Lord Subrahmanya Swamy. She was a regular devotee of Lord Kumara Swamy and every year she would observe a fast for Him. After several decades I got a chance to visit Lord Skanda at two sacred hill temples. Grace is like the gravitational pull - always keeping its children close to its bosom.