A Memorable Bhishma-ekadasi (Part II)

Upon return to Narasapuram, I took a fresh water bath in a choultry on the wayside. During the final ablution, I remembered Bhishma. As per custom, a few days earlier I used to offer tarpanam to Bhishma with jilledu (Calotropis gigantean) leaves and flowers. It used to be easy in the village because I could collect the leaves from our backyard. Now, in US it is impossible to collect these leaves unless I seek help from a tropical garden store. Perhaps, I can substitute the milkweed leaves, which are ubiquitous in the Northeast. In this festival, we remember all our ancestors from Bhishma onwards and even the people before Bhishma. We seek blessings from our ancestors (pitrudevas పితృ దేవతలు). Why? Because, they gave us all what we have today – through their sacrifices, the remarkable human DNA, culture, language, science, art, and technology. In one of her edifying books, Sister Nivedita talks glowingly about the Indian tradition. Egypt lost most of its earlier ethos in the course of unforgiving history. India is the exception; it has valiantly tried to hold on to its ancient tradition and practices. Every foreign culture tried to submerge India’s original culture (it happened on other continents too) but the great country accepted only very few of the foreign influences. It assimilated only that which could stand the test of time, only that which could be a healthy integral part of its ‘eternal dharma’. All else must be ruthlessly washed away in the course of time, as the ocean does with its periodic tireless tidal waves. 

Bhishma was a remarkable hero in Mahabharata. He was never defeated in any war. Even in the confrontation with his teacher, Parasurama, (the ebullient hot tempered Rama with axe) the war was only a draw. Bhishma spent his entire life in the service of his father, in the protection of his brothers and the kingdom. When Krishna came running towards him with whirling discus on the battlefield, he invited Him with all his heart. Which would be better? A long futile fight till the end or a joyful death witnessing His effulgent form and meditating on the Para-Brahman? The thousand (in Sanskrit, sahasra does not mean a mere one thousand only. Sahasra implies innumerable or countless) names encompassing the long prayer of Vishnu (known to many as Vishnu sahasra-nama) owes its existence to Bhishma. Even on his deathbed, he could visualize Krishna with sweat drops on His forehead. Bhishma even today teaches an important lesson. And that is, above all the humdrum of everyday life, there is ‘some sacredness’ in the ancient land, a sacredness on the earth – to that everything else must subordinate, if life means any living at all. 

So, in that lofty spirit, one celebrates the Indian festivals, particularly Bhishma-ekadasi, away from the glitter, extravagant shopping, and inane indulgence. Much of the current media and people in power – they are totally oblivious to the reality on pavement. How hard it is for many to afford medicine, urgent surgery, or one nutritious meal with a sweet dish? But, even without material wealth, everyone can participate in the celebratory spirit of life. In the solitary temple of ones inner mind, one can observe a simple fast, sing a lilting melody, or immerse in meditation on any day, festival or no festival. But fasting on the Ekadasi day has its merits.

On this day, Bhishma left his mortal body for the final spiritual voyage. He remained motionless on the arrows-bed for the auspicious arrival of “Uttarayana” (January 14 - July 16).  Soon, we (both in India and here) will witness brighter sun and longer days. Very soon, the birds will start their chorus urging the trees to bloom. Spring is not that far now. Bhishma-ekadasi falls on the eleventh (waxing) moon in Magha. 

A Memorable Bhishma-ekadasi

A Memorable Bhishma-ekadasi

This February 23rd has been an auspicious day for all Vaishnava devotees. It celebrates Bhishma-ekadasi. Many Hindu traditionalists will observe the occasion with a simple ablution near a well, river, canal, or sea and a trip to nearby Vishnu temple. 

Like the present day virus dislocation in routine life (it is more accentuated here in the USA), there was a similar discordant period when I was in school. Due to endless agitations and bandh disruptions, our university was shut down to limit the property damage and personal injuries; all the messes, shops, and markets were closed too. The entire transportation came to a standstill. It was truly a dismal bleak season – tough and hard times for everyone, for employees, students, and farmers. Despite all the gloom, there were a few isolated memorable incidents.

Somehow I reached my native town, after availing every possible mode of transportation. The erratic trip included a rickshaw, RTC bus, crowded taxi, and a three-mile tiring walk home. All the way home, it was a stop-and-go with very little access to food or water. It was a forced unscheduled vacation at home. There was not much to do except bike riding, trips to local temple, and odd errands. Very little shopping was possible, as all the shops had either closed or run out of goods. People had very little cash due to the frequent bank closings.

Yet those were very interesting days, as I recall now. I got to read several rare philosophical books, all borrowed from the Ramakrishna Mission. I could have studied the class books but it was difficult to concentrate on scientific matters during “a student strike hiatus”. (I can understand what the students are going through right now, with zoom and remote studies) One day I was chatting with friends in a Khaddar shop on the front porch. My friends suggested a trip to Antarvedi, a small hamlet near Bay of Bengal. It is at the confluence of the river and sea, at the mouth of Godavari River, along one of its branches. Being young we were more interested in the large gathering at the Narasimha temple (Antarvedi Thirtham/Fair). Seeing big crowds, dipping in the sea, and mixing with people and shopping at the fair– those were the things we all expected and anticipated eagerly. I readily agreed to join the crowd. It turned out to be a very pleasant learning experience as I’ve come to realize much later.

Life is, as someone has observed “a movement in relationship”.  Every moment need to be cherished and one has to feel the crisis in each second. Only that is life. It is for that celebration (of inner spirit), all our festivals were born. But the Hindu festivals are unique; they are a part of a greater story – story of the ancient man, (his) story of our ancestors, who lived along the Ganges.

We all started from our coastal town, Kshirapuri, around seven in the evening. It was a simple exhilarating bicycle trip. I did not own a bike, so I got a double (a ride) with an energetic friend. Getting a ride on those old bikes meant sitting on the metal carriage behind. It was not bad, but the hard metal frame started pinching me after two miles. We rode along the bank of big irrigation canal enjoying moonlight. (What a pity? Now, in 2020 hardly a small boat (forget the motor launch) can move in that canal without being pushed. Water has dramatically disappeared from the rivers and canals due to mismanagement and population growth. Not every thing in the last three decades has been progress in India.) I took five rupees from my father for the entire trip. It took care of lodging for the night, temple visit, return bus fare, a few idlis, and bananas for Lord Vishnu. The inside of a ripe banana is always pure and ready for consumption immediately. Thus, bananas and coconuts are the favorite fruits at Indian temples. There was no need for any map, GPS, or directions. We all knew intuitively how to reach Antarvedi. The true test and power of religion is this: There may be some hiccups on the way, but the individual will always reach the sought, with joy. All we had to follow for our trip is the water on our right side. The wide canal would directly take us to the mouth of Godavari. We reached Narasapuram (the name itself proclaims that it is a town of Lord Narasimha) around 9 p.m., and we still had to ride on the Godavari bank for another forty minutes before we could catch a launch (motor boat). 

On the way we regaled ourselves with the prevalent movie stories and political problems. My friends’ topics revolved around their own difficulties with agriculture, crops, and running a small shop. I could only appreciate bits and parts of their conversation as I had moved to bigger cities in pursuit of higher education. Their unalloyed simplicity and overflowing friendly behavior impressed me always; it really overwhelmed me. Even today, I get the same warm reception in small villages and towns of Andhra. Riding through the muddy bank, under the canopy of coconut trees on either side, we reached the end of the road. Now we were in front of frothy jumping Godavari meeting its long sought companion, the eastern sea. Finally with a bit of jostling, weight lifting, we, with four bikes and one motorcycle were nestled into a small boat. From the boat into a motor launch, it all happened on the water. I never witnessed a river so joyful; it was the most beautiful scene in that glistening moonlit night. (This is what they wanted to convey in the movie, Mayabazar with the song, “lahiri lahiri” లాహిరి లాహిరి.)

Soon we reached the little village and we all took shelter at a small house. Whether it was just a cow shed or front porch, I cannot recall. But we wanted a little rest, brief sleep to recover from the journey’s fatigue. At the crack of dawn, we all got up to take a dip in the sea. Our bikes were of little use on the sandy road, so we all walked with the big festival crowd. What a glorious sunrise in the Bay of Bengal! Earth was still recovering from the enthralled sleep with moon and only the sun’s gentle kiss on the right cheek could coax her shake off lethargy. Entire trip could be encapsulated into that one colorful sunrise scene. The whole beach rim was full of big and small crowds, children teasing the waves with little palms, and elders bathing with clothes. Who can really control the whims and currents of ocean or even Godavari? In the distance I caught a glimpse of a bottle, a cloth, and savaram (wig). When we reached the Narasimha temple with wet salty dripping clothes, the lines were very long. There was no way we could enter the inner sanctum and be out of the crowd that evening. So, we had to leave our offerings on the temple parapet. From a distance we prayed to Lakshmi-Narasimha. Yes, it is always Lakshmi-Narasimha or Sri Narasimha. Always, we remember the couple together (Vishnu and Lakshmi). As Prahlada declared, “Vishnu is everywhere, there need be no doubt”. So, our offerings genuinely reached Vishnu. In Bhagavatam, it is said that Narasimha was in great rage after killing Prahlada’s father, Hiranya Kasipu, like a super boiling water, beyond 100° C. The Lord cooled only upon Prahlada’s entreating and only then Lakshmi approached Him (See the old B/W movie, Chenchu Lakshmi, చెంచు లక్ష్మి) Copyright 2021 by the author (to be Contd.)