The final exorcism of the past VII

I grew my beard.

Long.

I let my hair grow. Long

The beard complied. The hair didnt.

It grew at the back and bunched up there like a neck pillow.

I didnt mind.

I was restless. Within I was empty. Just reponses to stimuli and nothing in between. The voices had dwindled to 3.

When the rest went Iam unable to say. I dont recall.

I recall the time when there was just three.

Agastyan does not chatter. My questions are answered by him.

The rest two talks among themselves most of the time. I listen. I rarely participate.

I read.

When I read Iam absorbed in the words. Everything around me falls into silence. I absorb. No voices. Nothing. Not even me. Just words connecting, creating images inside. The images remain for sometime and then slowly dissolves away.

I read the same book sometimes, realizing midway that I have read it before when the words trip on a stray image lying within and turns it around and recognizes it. Then everything floods back in.

I dont force it . It happens sometimes. I have lots of books.

Religion fascinates my state.

It talks to me.

Agastyan approves.

Agastyan is totally external. I ask him if he is me. He asks me if he is me then I should be able to tell what he is going to say next. I cant. He says, see?

I dont connect with the voices in the sense that they are a part of me. They stand aloof, totally despite me. They will be there even if I wasnt. Their presence is comforting sometimes but sometimes it negates me.

I feel the need to find myself. I exist but it seems like watching myself in the mirror. There is a disconnect.

I grow my beard. I grow my hair. I wear black. I put on the first of many mask.

I absorb the books. It talks of vibes , energy and it immediatly manifest itself for me. I read about sanyasis and I become them. Their words become mine. Mine become theirs. I become.

I tell Achan that I would like to go to Sabrimala.

He is pleased.

I do the 42 days fast. I pray.

I do not know what I pray for. Agastyan speaks. I repeat what he says.

I go to Sabrimala with my cousin.

We go along with some of his friends. Iam a kanni swami.First timer.Novice.

We take a bus to Erumeli. I dont enjoy the crowd. I dont like my cousin's friends. They are loud. They find a roll of money on the bus floor in the night. They show it to my cousin and me when we get down for a tea break. Cousin says that we need to return it. They argue that how we will find the rightful owner. Cousin says we should just drop it in the temple donation box. They say that its Ayyappans gift. God works in mysterious ways.

Cousin feels my distance. He feels my reproch. I feel his simmering disgust.

We get down at Erumeli.

Crowd. Seeting mass of humanity. Wave in black and saffron. Its stifling. I am not enjoying this. My center was off. I feel anger. I feel crowded.

We walk with the crowd to a mosque.

We light lamps. Rub ash on our forehead. I copy. I watch and I copy. I feel nothing.

We walk . Erumeli .

Girl selling peanut, swaying lusciously at the pilgrims. They cry louder. Swamiye Ayyapoo! The noise to scare away the lust full thoughts like elephants with a fire crackers.

I watch the girl. She smiles. I smile . Cousin and I buy peanuts from her. She calls us swami. I feel elated.

We walk. We get pushed out of the way by other swamis that walk up with cries of Padham! Padham! , which I believe means , make way, make way.

Iam irritated. Angry.

We stop at a river, to take a dip. Its ritual. Shit covers all walkable area. I dip in the river and to my right there is a rock that juts out of the river upon which is a heap of excreta, dripping into the water. I scramble out. I wipe myself dry. I wipe myself dry again.

I watch my disgust.

My legs are paining. The old broken bones in my right leg had never healed completely. The fibula had formed a false joint that had a mind of its own.

I tell my cousin that Iam going back. My legs prevent me from walking for long. Its painful.

I return to Pamba by a bus.(I do not recall this part. But my cousin told me this is what really happened. Sequences are difficult.)

We decide to meet up at Pamba and walk up to the temple.

Cousin and friends meet me at Pamba.

We bathe in Pamba. The flowing water is dammed and is stagnent with floating black dhotis and religious muck. The water is viscous. No amount of piety is going to make that water wash away my sins. I dip myself nevertheless. I surface disgusted.

We continue the climb. Iam done. I had enough. I dont feel correct. It seems pretentious. Not natural. I dont want to go further. My cousin says he will go with me.

His friends are shocked. They say it will offend Ayyapan.

Ayyappan can go and fuck himself.

I dont feel like seeing him now.

Agastyan laughs out loud. I smile at him.

We leave. I feel light.

We travel freely. We get off at a place called Laha because we found the name quaint. We post us a postcard from there. Have lunch and sleep under the rubber trees that lines the road.

We stop a bus and reach Trivandrum.

Its night.

We go to a road side stall for some food. Theres a lady serving. She calls us swami. She fusses about us. She finds a seat for us. Feed us. We pay. I call her daughter when we leave.

The transformation was complete. I had absorbed and made a new me.

I had a personality. Of my own.

My cousin sniggered in the auto back home to the hills of Nedumangad.

Daughter!

I smiled with him. I had a foundation, now I can build on this.

I feel light.

We reach home. We continue the fast. We leave for Sabrimala during the rainy season. We travel light. We travel free. We stop when we feel like it. We walk when we feel like it. We sleep where theres place. We speak to strangers. The world opens up and welcomes us right in.

Old man in the bus with a coconut sapling. Cousin initiates the conversations. He comes to Sabrimala every year. Many years. I do not recall the number. He plants a coconut sapling there every year. A marker to his devotion. My inside fills with a warm glow. The old man asks me how many times I have come to Sabrimala, I say never. He asks me who is my Ishta Devata. I reply Shiva.

He says look.

I look out of the window to see a huge statue of Shiva in meditation, surrounded by wilderness. I look.

The old man has his eyes closed and his lips move in prayers. I recall he had travelled these roads many times.

Agastya sighs.

We reach Pamba.

Its the rainy seaon. The river flows wildly. It is choppy and rough. Its raining. We wash ourselves. This time we do no dare take a dip, the river is too rough.

We start the climb. We go slowly. It is drizzling. We take our time. I recall being completly alone save the 2 of us. But that cant be correct. But thats how I recall it. We reached the Sanidhanam. It was dark. Not many shops were open. It was still raining.

We went into the temple. We were alone there.

I stood in front of the temple and saw the small statue , for whose vision scores of humanity had struggled for , for centuries. I stood there for a long time. Taking it all in. Agastyan spoke. I watched.

Light from the lamps reflecting off the metal shine of the idol. The smell of the incense. The orange glow within the inner santum. I must have prayed. I dont recall.

My cousin did a saina pratista around the temple. I ensure that there are no obstacles in from of him while he rolls around the temple . I walk beside him , correcting his dothi when it slips too high.

We finish our prayers and go to the shops lining the temple. Few are open. We have dosa at one place. We decide to spend the night at the temple.

We sit near a milestone that says Sabarimala 0 . We lean against it and lights our beedi.

We smoke in silence.

We hear a sound. We look to see a huge wild boar step out of the forest. We watch each other. For a long time. He steps out onto the road and walk towards us. We continue smoking. Privilaged. We watch. The boar stood at about 4 feet in height. Big. It stopped near some banana leaves that had been discarded by the road side.His eyes never left us. It placed its front paw on the leaves and tore the leaves with its snout. It ate in silence. All the time regarding us.

We watched. We smoked.

The boar gave a grunt and disappeared into the forest.

My cousin looks at me. We smile.

We return home the next day.

I am a swami.

My aim is to find myself.

to find the purpose of my existence

to seek ? to find the answer to a question I have never asked?

I am a swami.

I am indulging myself. In that indulgence, that activity , there is me. I exist in the confluence between thought and action. Without one of the two I cease to exist.

If that is so, asked Agastyan, where are you?

Thus the search began.