‘You’ve come,’ she said, and being in sacred clothes she would not touch me. I brought the luggage in — the servants had gone for their siesta and noonday meal — sent the taxi away, and went for my bath towards the familiar, warm, soot-covered bathroom. I saw the ever-active wall lizards over the stores, and peeped out to see if the papaya and the moon-guavas were in fruit in the backyard. I took the huge ladle-jug of the bathroom and saying ‘Ganga, Jumna, Saraswathi,’ poured water over myself; then, dressed in a dhoti, I went into the sanctum. Little Mother was still praying — the gods were covered with flowers— the casket of the gods was the same that Grandfather Kittanna had brought from Benares, and it was thence that Little Mother had taken the family toe-rings to give to me. Drawing Father’s wooden seat before the gods I sat with Little Mother, thinking of Grandfather Ramanna, who had given me the love of Shiva and Parvathi, the worship of incarnations; who had first whispered unto my ear the Gayathri, OM, O face of Truth…’
Sridhara woke up, and I told Little Mother to continue her prayers while I went to swing the cradle. I remembered a beautiful berceuse, the one with which I used to send Saroja to sleep, and I sang it to Sridhara.
The Swan is swinging the cradle, baby,
saying ‘I am That,’ ‘That I am’ quietly;
She swings it beautifully, baby,
Abandoning actions and hours.
Sridhara had no illusions as to who was at the cradle — it was not his mother. He cried and cried, till Little Mother came and talked to him and the noon silence fell on the house again. ‘It’s Saturday today, and you’ve come just in time for the story of Rama,’ said Little Mother, and seating me beside her, she told me once again the story of Rama…
‘Once upon a time there was a Brahmin, and he said to himself, “Oh, I am growing old; I want to go to Benares.” And so he called his son and said, “Son, Brahma Bhatta, I am growing old, I’ve grey hairs on my skull, and my body is parched like a banana skin. I must now go to Benares. Keep Mother and the cattle in good state, and I leave you this House of Nine-Pillars, and the wet-fields and my good name. Look after them then, Son, for a twelve-year.”
‘“As the father ordains, so it shall be,” said Brahma Bhatta. And the father said, turning to his sacral-wife Bhagirathi, “And so, Wife, I go and come.” And she wept and made many holy requests, and she said, “Yes, but what about this daughter?” The father said, “O give her to me, and I’ll have her wed on the way.” And he took his female child on his shoulder — she was but seven years old — and with music in front and fife and elders he came to the village-gate. The villagers wept and made ceremonies of departure, and the wife fell at the feet of her Lord and said, “Well, he goes, my Lord, to Benares; to bring light on the manes.” And she asked, “What may we do meanwhile?” And he said, “Wife, my sweet-half, keep the house clear and auspicious; the son will look after the home and cattle. And when Saturday comes — just tell the story of Rama.” And the son fell at the feet of Ishwara Bhatta, and said, “Yes, indeed, Father.” They all stood at the village-gate, where the road bent by the Chapel-of-Swinging-the-Swing-in-Spring, and the giant mango tree, and then he was gone, was Ishwara Bhatta, beyond the folds of the hills, across the river — to Benares.
‘So while Ishwara Bhatta wended his way upwards to Benares, Brahma Bhatta said to his mother Bhagirathi, “When Saturday comes, Mother, we’ll tell the story of Rama.” And he looked round, and the house was very bright with vessels and decorations and with cattle that lowed in the cattle-yard. Peasants came and peasants went, some measuring rice, others cutting shoots and vines; some drawing water, others sharpening the shares; while the maid — servants plastered and washed the floors with cow-dung, and Bhagirathi covered the threshold with red-lead and drew sacred designs before the main portals: pentagons of lotuses and mandalas many and sumptuous.
‘Now the traveller had gone away, and when he had gone but a few leagues he rested. He cooked, said his prayers, ate, gave food to his daughter; and when evening came he meditated, and spreading his bedding said, “Lord!” and went to sleep. In the morning, shivering, he went to the river, bathed and took the bathed girl to the temple; and before the sun had said, “I am there,” he had started again on his pilgrimage.
‘Now league after league had gone, and day after day, and days turned into weeks, and weeks into many moon-months; and when he came to the banks of the Nerbuda, he saw an ascetic seated in firm meditation. And when he had approached the ascetic and offered many courtesies, Ishwara Bhatta said, “Venerable Sir, you are lonely. I have a daughter to marry. Please become my son-in-law.” And the venerable ascetic said, “What may I do with a wife? I have all my five austerities to perform.” To this Ishwara Bhatta made answer, “No, Venerable Sir, it is meet for a man to marry and found family and hearth, that sacrifice be made. Aye, Sir, fulfil the duties of a householder.” And the venerable man said, “So be it, so be it,” whereupon Ishwara Bhatta took tulasi leaf and water and gave the daughter unto the venerable ascetic. Then he said, “I go. Be happy, daughter and son-in-law,” and running towards the setting sun, he went. He went and he went, he went very far.
‘As he journeyed thus he came to a lonesome house, and knocked and said, “A pilgrim, Lady, a pilgrim.” And the inmate said, “Oh, what an auspicious thing! The master of the house has gone on pilgrimage, and has not returned this twelve-year or more, and I weep.” And she wept. “Oh, do not weep, Lady,” said Ishwara Bhatta, and when he was fed and had feasted and rested, he called her and told her the story of Rama. Then he went, just where the sun sets — there he went, did Ishwara Bhatta.
‘When he had gone on leagues and leagues, the day turned into the heat of summer, and the nights turned into the chill of winter, still he went, he went towards Benares.
‘And when he had gone far, very far, he came on a lonely wheat-field; and a voice said, “Traveller, stay.” And he stayed. The old man, the owner of the field, was blind; his son had gone on a journey, and no one had news of him for many round moons and suns. His wife and father waited for him to return, while the fields became full of weeds and parrots. Oh, the parrots, they were too many. “The old father sits on the perch-hut and shouts at them,” explained the daughter-in-law, “but they are so clever: they come from all sides, and he is blind. What can we do?” Then Ishwara Bhatta sat then and there, and told them the story of Rama. “Rama, Rama, give us wealth and give us splendour; give us the eight riches auspicious, give us an heir, give us a home and sanctuary, give us earth and gardens; those who go to towns distant, may they return, may the body be firm and innocent; give eyes to the blind, legs to the lame, give speech to the dumb. Rama, Sri Rama, give us Thy presence and Thy blessings. And Daughter,” said Ishwara Bhatta to the daughter-in-law of the house, “tell the story of Rama every Saturday — it will bring you things auspicious.” And with many and varied polite compliments he went.
‘When he had gone far, very far, he came upon an open sward in the forest. And as he stood there, They appeared amidst lightning and peals of thunder; there They stood, Rama and Sita, Lakshmana, Bharatha and Satrugnya, with the faithful Hanuman behind Them. There was such music, and so holy a look on the face of the Lord, and, flowers, petals upon petals sailing and raining on the earth, that Ishwara Bhatta fell on his eight-parts and arose. And when he stood, the Lord of Compassion vouchsafed him many a blessing, and said, “The pilgrimage is fulfilled; let the pilgrim return to hearth and home.” Then having contemplated the face of the Lord, Ishwara Bhatta turned southwards, with benediction in his heart. And the world looked holy and full of light and gentility.