As my wife and I walked out of the very vast and sprawling precincts of that ancient temple, said to be more than 2,000 years old, in that nameless village in a corner of Tamil Nadu, I noticed a lone beggar, must be in his fifties, squatting there on the raw earth with a begging bowl in front. Unusually, he was making no appeal for alms, and was quiet unto himself. The sun was fast setting and sinking into the deep west below, and the beggar’s face was radiant in that dusk-driven twilight red hue. It was a cold evening. We were the only visitors left around there.
As I approached him with a two-rupee coin to drop into his bowl, I spotted a 10-rupee coin, with its shining brass outer ring and the inner nickel disc, lying a few yards from him.
Pointing to that unattended coin, I asked him whether he ever noticed it, expecting him to pounce on it as that would be deemed a bounty. His reaction flummoxed me no end.
He said as quietly and softly as a piece of small white cloud would pass over the sky, with a wry smile spread across his face, “Sir, I noticed it long ago. It does not belong to me. Someone who lost it might come back and will be immensely glad to reclaim it. Isn’t it?”
I was stunned and could not believe that a charity-seeker could be so magnanimous. Curiosity got the better of me. I asked him whether he would mind if I picked it up and dropped it in his bowl. He replied in the negative, reasoning that both he and I would sin by depriving its legitimate owner an opportunity to retrieve it.
By now I was thoroughly confused over his philosophy and outlook. I did not relent. I convinced him that I would prefer to earn the sin but would still pick it up and drop it in his bowl. He replied that he did not relish enjoying the fruit of my sin.
I was intrigued. My God! Where to fit this soul? Did I walk into an ascetic in disguise? I was drawn towards him more, by now. I did not want to leave him without knowing his whereabouts, though my wife was warning that it was getting dark and the environs were looking unsafe with no human movement in sight. I assured her that our car driver was with us and the lone priest inside the temple would come to our aid in case of any peril befalling us. I persisted with the beggar. I sought to know from him: what if no one came to claim the coin? Pat came his reply. “Then, a more deserving and needier soul than me would get it.” Had I stumbled upon a genuine godman?
What was he up to? I dropped the two-rupee coin into his bowl. His face lit up. I asked him whether he ever went inside the temple. He replied in the negative. He added that he had darshan of the deity whenever it was brought out of the temple in procession, usually thrice in a year. This sounded too odd to bear. Was he an atheist?
I gave vent to one lingering doubt that was troubling me. Seeking to be pardoned, I asked him: if he would hesitate to lay his hands on something that belonged to another, which he deemed a sin, why was he into begging, which was also reckoned a sin, more so when he was able-bodied. He gave me a dispassionate smile and removed the soiled piece of cloth that wrapped his body below his torso.
The sight shook our whole being. He had legs twisted beyond shape, and his body was resting on a wooden plank fitted with wheels below to aid mobility. I cursed my uncharitable probe into his means of livelihood. My wife admonished me for being uncivilised as to force him to bare his gnarled limbs.
I was impatient now, eager to listen to his life story. I begged of him to let me know. He said he was born with such legs and was abandoned as an infant at an orphanage in the nearby town. There were 12 more children like him in the orphanage. The caretaker gave up the orphanage as sponsors dried up and donations thinned out. His mates in the orphanage were adopted by childless couples, but no one came forward to own him. He was left near the temple when he was 12, along with the crude vehicle made at the behest of the caretaker to carry him. He had by then fallen seriously ill. He lived at the rear end of the temple outside its 12-foot-high compound wall, in an abandoned rock structure that shielded him from sun and rain.
Did he earn enough to feed himself? There were days when he had to fast when collections were meagre. But he was content that his food requirements on most of the days were met.
I was already feeling shaky and guilty. Seeking not to be offended, I asked
him if I could get him admitted to a rehabilitation home in any nearby town. He said he had nearly lived all his life happily around the temple, and he would like to breathe his last there.
My wife and I had tears in our eyes. We knew not how to handle the situation.
I murmured a little loudly so as to be audible to him, “How cruel fate could be.”
He replied, “Sorry, I beg to differ, sir. God has been kind. There are others who suffer a worse destiny. Maybe, God has something good in store for me, ahead. I wait for him to invite me, for peaceful rest.”
pushpasaran@yahoo.co.in
