A call from the Goddess -2000 miles away
Saraswati Namasthubyam Varade Kaamarupini, Vidyarambham Karishyami Siddhir Bhavathume Sata!
A prayer that graces the tongue of every infant, a prayer that establishes the position and value of education in a child right from when they can say “Amma”. The verses invoke the spirit within a human to learn, accept the intelligence within but brighten the fires of curiosity that make us understand the value of our existence in this universe.
Om Mahadevyaichu Vidhmahe, Vishnu pathniyaicha Dheemahe, Thanno Lakshmi Prachodayath! Namasthestu Mahamaaya , Sripeede Surapujithe Shankachakra Gatha Haste, Mahalakshmi Namostuthe!
A prayer that lights up the beauty, prosperity and an aura within each devotee. A prayer that guides one to committing good actions and creating a balance within. A prayer that worships the divine grace and elegance of the goddess who chose to sit within a blossoming lotus flower.
Ayigiri Nandhini Nandita Medhini, Vishwa Vinodini Nandanuthe, Girivara Vindhya Sirodhi Nivasini, Vishnu Vilasini Jishnu Nuthe, Bhagavathi hey stithi kanda Kudumbini Bhoori kudumbini bhoori kruthe, Jaya Jaya hey Mahishasura Mardini, Ramya Kapardini Shaila Suthe!
A rhythmic prayer I love to chant that invokes and glorifies the strength within each one of us while reverently understanding the power within Devi who proudly donned the spine chilling panoply to ultimately destroy evil. She is within us, she is us.
There came a time when the Shakti from the three Devis merged together manifesting in the creation of Vaishnav Devi. A mystical belief, an ancient lore, call it what we may but she radiates an aura, an energy and most importantly an occasional unmistakable wave of sound that can transcend the mountains of Jammu and seep into the minds of many pilgrims who maybe chanting these shlokas as they trek, or worshippers in their cozy puja rooms alike. According to popular belief, you cannot see her until she calls you. The sound, the call that reverberates in the heart of a rejoicing devotee can come to us anytime expected or not.
She chose to call my Aunt who was busy wiping the ashes from the glowing embers of lit incense sticks while chanting her evening prayers in the sweltering heat of Ahmedabad mid-March.
1997- the trek begins….from Thrissur!
3.15 pm March 28th, 1997
Every adult in my family can chant these prayers at the drop of a hat. Now the reader might wonder why only adults- Well I say adult because its 1997 – I’m still a child and so are my cousins. For us divinity is comfortably welcomed at 9 am or evening 6 pm ( We love evenings more though- You do get vadas and appams as consolation prizes for making it to the shrine bathed and polished). But never as early as 6 am or Devi forbid even earlier. Until a call from the mountains changed it all.
That fateful 3:15 pm, I bounce from the school bus tired but happy that the annual exams are over – Yes I will pass! Laying my hands on the tiny shoulders of two lovely juniors, we cross the road and kick stones while walking forward letting the stones lead our footsteps. We discuss what all we wish to do for vacations, knowing fully well that whatever we discuss, ultimately we will tail our parents wherever they choose to take us. But I didn’t think in my case it would be literal. My house is a left turn away and I speed down the small slope trying to sniff what snack has Amma made today. Pazham Pori was my ala carte order before I left for school. I open the silver gate and I hear strains of mom loudly talking on the phone while speaking to dad at the sometime. She has long before mastered this art of talking to multiple family members both physically and telephonically, having handled many such weekly ISD calls while we were in the Gulf. No one has noticed my arrival which means no snacks as well. I drop my bag, those awful black ribbons, throw the socks away and look at dad for any clue as to what could be more important than my plate of pazham pori.
He stated “We are going to Jammu, trek to see Vaishnav Devi, potter down the hills, board the bus to Simla, then Kulu, Manali, Dalhousie then back to Delhi and we return on the 18th of April."
Readers, for a hungry child this is too much information to take in 2 minutes. I look at Amma and she is busy in discussions with my Ahmedabad aunt. “No” I authoritatively tell dad. “What NO?” Wow how does she do it each time!! The phone is placed theatrically down while she comes to me with huge excited eyes. Her demeanor looks like Devi herself called her on the telephone asking her to come visit.
“Amma, I don’t want to go anywhere, I want to stay home and watch TV ( Cable Connection was only recently brought back to the house like a lost family member- Star Movies and I have blissful days planned ahead) Amma takes one look at me and stomps to the kitchen a kilometer away from where I was standing stubbornly. I hug the remote and land on the sofa while dad has a small smile on his face. “How was your exam?” Punching in the number of my favorite channel, I absent mindedly tell him ” No problem" To which he asks-"What problem were you expecting?" RANIII!!!” Amma has different tones of voice to address her nature of calling. We always mentally prepare ourselves to face her based on the tone of her call. This particular one, my favorite, carries the tone of “Come eat”
Remote flies across, dad moves out of the way and I rush to the steel plate of 8 pazham poris that warmly greet me. I jump up to the granite slab next to the gas stove and gobble 2 at the same time. Blissfully forgetting cable connection, movies etc. I ask her “So who’s coming with us?”
To engage my reader in a prequel to the trip
At the present period of time, my mother’s side of the family comprises of 4 sisters, 7 brothers and the matriarch of our house-my grandmother. While 5 of them live in and around the ancestral home, the rest are placed across the globe. This explains the persistent phone calls for possibly getting everyone together in one compartment on a journey to the hills. The siblings have an unwritten rule- They may travel across the world on their own, but if it is a pilgrimage then everyone especially the sisters have to be striding together. This is precisely the reason good enough for my Ahmedabad aunt to pick up the phone and inform her siblings “We as a family have been invited to Jammu by none other than Devi- pack your bags”
11 am 30th March, 1997
The few days leading to the date of travel are filled with crossmarks on our Manorama calendar, incessant phone calls, checklists, meetings at our ancestral home where my parents, aunts and my ever enthusiastic uncle discuss endlessly the routes, stop points , contact persons, what to pack, etc. Whereas my younger cousins are just excited about the train journey and the snow in Manali they may get to see. Their energy and hyper active movements make my aunt tell them “Always hold each other’s hand during the journey” Else what?” They ask me. With no better quick reply, I eerily tell them” So that you don’t fall of the edge of the mountains” That makes them calm down a bit.
1stApril, Thrissur Railway Station
Our countless zipped and locked bags cover a small square size plot on the messy platform, while we await the train to Delhi post lunch. I am still not completely convinced about this long journey but I look at the women in my family on one side enthusiastically discussing the possible venues of shopping, climate change and the impending trek while my uncle and dad keep looking at their watches and the ticket list which has all the ten seat numbers in a haphazard manner but in the same compartment. The excitement is palpable which reflects on my little cousin brother who keeps hopping between the luggage while my cousin sister is half asleep on her mom’s shoulder. Amidst all the dins and drones of continual announcements and ground shaking reverberations of the passing railway coaches; seated comfortably on a luggage with soft edges is my eldest Valiamma who is quietly reading her shloka book – Lalitasahasranamam and I go sit next to her with a small teacup in my hand . I ask her “Shall I get you one cup of tea? She nods her head sideways-I ask her “Valiamma, are you excited about this long trip?”
She looks up thoughtfully at me. Dressed in a cotton blouse and a comfortable sari, placing the book on her lap, she folds her neat handkerchief again, looks at the empty tracks and breaks into a sudden beautiful smile. A stickler to her perfect routine and a lover of clean surroundings makes me wonder how she will deal with the next fortnight filled with travel, strange food and non-habitual timings of sleep- in short topsy turvy days ahead. My face revealed my thoughts but she interrupts, “I don’t think I will ever be able to make a trip like this again, so yes I am excited. But what about you? Your Amma tells me along with her luggage she had to drag you as well!”
I give her a sheepish smile and my KK mama suddenly knocks my head asking me “Who will reach the top of the mountain first? You, Arun, Ashwathy or Vidya?" At the sound of his name, Arun comes hopping to us saying he can trek faster than anyone. By now all my family members are huddled around Valiamma and my dad says “She will watch Star Movies in the hotel room while we trek”
The announcement of 12625 Nizamuddin Express to Delhi wakes our limbs while my aunt Suma reflexively grabs my brother’s hand before he dives to the edge of the platform in his excitement to see the train. The next few minutes are all about tucking our luggage under every allotted berth; seating everyone while we children fight over the window seat. Finally the whistle sounds and the green flag flutters to the rhythm of the stationmaster. My little cousin sister Ashwathy claps her hand in complete joy while Vidya is already laying the rules for her games.
A couple of hours later. I look around to see my aunts and mom discuss why some of our relatives couldn’t come on the trip. Dad and uncle discuss the political situation in Jammu. The rhythmic roll while seated in trains makes us hungry and aptly my vision fell on the massive steel dabba of idlis and the deep red onion chutney made specifically for long train journeys like these. Amma opens the dabba and the smell of warm moist idlis attack our stomachs. Like birds, my cousins swoop down from the topmost berth onto my side. While we patiently wait to receive our paper plate of the goodies, both cousins jump to my lap- “ Tell us a story!”
3rdApril, mid noon – Delhi
We alight from the train and stand together holding the children’s hands while our elders count and sort the luggage. The train to Jammu is a day apart so we stay the night in our relatives’ houses. While Valiamma, Amma & Achan are busy talking to our Delhi relative, I spent most of the time looking out the balcony absorbing in the different sights, sounds and weather. We belong to the same country but the feel in each state is so different.
6pm, 4th April -Delhi Railway Station
“There! I saw them” – all eyes turn to where Arun points. Here comes the heroine, the one who started it all, the one who got 10 pairs of feet standing in the bustling station of the capital city.
Leela Valiamma- my mother’s elder sister but younger to Valiamma. She walks towards us with that pearly- all –teeth- are -visible smile followed by her daughter Shilpa. On her side is my ever smiling Valyachan. He has nothing but a gentle word for all of us. I love watching him put a hand on everyone’s head and when it was my turn he held both my hands closely. He is the only one who notices my vertical progression. A big gentle hug to my elder cousin and she tweaks my cheeks- That mix of hindi slang to her Malayalam makes it all the more amusing when she says -“ You didn’t want to come on the trip, I heard” Trust Amma to broadcast my inhibitions! Oh but its not over.
Having spent her golden years as teacher and principal of a prominent school- Leela Valiamma’s movements always reflect a commanding presence. The lines between being an Aunt and a Teacher are blurred especially when she sees children. I await my turn to be reprimanded. If her movements reflect that of a teacher, automatically the student within us emerges. I cross my hands back and so do my cousins. She puts a hand to my chin- “Entha di. Amma told me you didn’t want to come on this trip. Do you know how beautiful Vaishnav Devi and Jammu is? How many do you know have been called for this chance of a lifetime; you are the lucky one Rani!”
No wonder she is who she is. A gifted teacher will always know how and when to say the right words to the hesitant student. Those words silenced my doubts within.
The Jammu express puffs it way onto the platform breaking our moments of a cozy reunion. I lift the bag that is carving a dent on my mom’s shoulder and board the train to a destination I have never seen before other than in movies. Owing to a sweet tiredness from a warm meal and the constant travel, we were fast asleep before the TT could even check our tickets.
6am, 5th April - Jammu
Nothing, I promise nothing prepares me for the sight that greeted me out of the rattling window this morning. A few moments between waking and sliding down from the side top berth, I open my eyes not knowing where am I or who am I . Two tiny heads pop between the curtains ”Are you still sleeping chechi? Vidya counted 16 apples I counted 18– No I counted 18 Arun counted 16 – she argues. “
Apples?! My cousins have sweaters on them too –My curiosity gets the better of me, so I get up , extend one of my long legs on the opposite middle berth and zigzaggedly slide down landing on my right foot ( Prabhu Deva would approve ). A whoosh of cold air gives me a tight hug and I shiver but I cross my elbows and walk to the window seat completely beheld by the sight outside the window- A million trees with juicy red apples hanging from every branch, at least 20 at a glance. My eyes are used to swaying coconut trees that hide its fruit from our vision, or plantations that have leaves bigger than my hands, but this is a sight to behold for a lifetime. Regardless of the nip in Jammu air, I stare at the quickly passing trees that also bear yellow hued apples. Oh how I wish the train would slow down just to take in this view slowly. In reply, a loud horn is heard and the train slows down for a signal clearing, while I place both my elbows on the window and just breathe in the fresh clean cold air. I open my eyes slowly to see a clearing amongst the trees, “Achaaaa” I scream.
He sits down on the opposite side – “Look at that now” We both are mesmerized by the view of early sunlight shining on the snowcapped spires of the mountains. I smile, I laugh, I now know how easily Actress Madhu had the same reaction in the song Puthu Vellai Mazhai. I call for my cousins and show them the snow and they are completely out of control. They begin an imaginary fight with invisible snow balls. Both their mothers scream at them to be quiet while I keep staring at the mountains and the sheer breathtaking beauty of nature. The train lurches forward and Amma taps my shoulder-“Go freshen up, we are about to reach”
Around 7 am, the train slows to a halt at Jammu Tawi Station and the sights and sounds that slowly unfold are completely different from what we have ever seen. Army men walk around the station with loaded rifles, sweater clad citizens roam about aimlessly while passengers sit awaiting the trains. For a second, I see worry on the elders’ faces as there are military personnel everywhere but Valyachan reassures us that this is normal in this part of the world. I would give a penny for my father’s thoughts at this point.
Amma gives me a shawl to wrap around. So we wait while Leela valiamma and Valyachan handle the arrangement for the next part of the journey. Shilpa walks up to my dad and asks” Sreedharmama shall we get breakfast now or later?“ He didn’t have to reply – we all scream NOW. It did not help that we were attacked by strong appetizing smells of parathas nearby.
The portly stall owner calls all of us the same way mom calls me to “Come Eat”. He drizzles desi ghee on top of the hot steamy parathas in each of our paper plates with a generous dollop of Mango Achar. After the sumptuous meal, he promptly serves us cardamom flavored teas as well. A feast for the senses!
9.30 am, 5th April – Outside Jammu Tawi Station
From JT station we board the bus and yet again prepare to sleep. About 45 minutes into the journey- the bus makes a stop at one of the highway stalls. The lazy me chooses to sit where I am while my uncles and dad get down to stretch. They come back into the bus with hands full of coconut shells. Eating seasonal fruits sprinkled with chat masala in a coconut shell is truly an experience of its own. The rock salt does wonders to the tired minds of the passengers.
6pm, Lo Behold ! Here is Katra
Katra–the small town in Jammu; more famously known as the starting point of Trikuta Mountain considered the abode of Vaishnav Devi. The mountain holds a 3d view on all of us. The hotel we checked into has a huge massive window overlooking one portion of the burgeoning mountain. As dusk fell upon us, the lights shone on the pathway and I can clearly see the lights are fixed in an upward slope like manner – almost like the lights are trekking to her. We are dressed in clean comfortable clothes, sneakers on, shawls wrapped, fired up and ready to face the challenge of a lifetime. We step out of our room to see everyone is already out- my cousins are hyperactive, my aunts are uncertainly certain of reaching the top. I put a hand on the frail shoulders of my tiny big Valiamma-“ Ready?” She has a smile and says “ Yes, lets go”
Much like Devi’s vibrant presence, the city is bustling with pilgrims wearing the red gauze like cloth laced with gold frills around their forehead- a mark of their successful visit to her. There are innumerable stalls offering tea and parathas, Uncle chips, GoldSpot and Cadburys. As matter of fact, all snacks that promise an instant energy for a trekker are available readily. While my uncle buys a few for the children, I notice the look of bliss on my family women as they look up reverently to the glowing mountain. Both my uncles and dad are charged with energy, lots of cash in their pockets and a determination to cover the trail. We slowly start moving to the starting point. On my right, is a pandal with the mounted idol of Vasihnav devi draped in red and gold silk, vermillion on the forehead, armed with her weapons flanking her graciously portraying her might. Devotees proudly sing her bhajans, dance away and once in a while shriek” Jai Mata Di”. We pray for a safe passage upto her, we pray for the good health of all of us during the trek. I look at the tiny legs of my cousins and pray for their energy to remain unfazed at the end of the trek.
With a light stomach, a heavy belief and a prayer, 13 pairs of hands bend down to touch the starting point to our foreheads and we put our right foot forward.
9pm – Somewhere up on the mountain
The slopes are steeper, the sounds are less loud, the air is chillier, our words are lesser. Energy levels are not depleted yet but if we are batteries it will show 55%. At this point , Kuty mama turns out to be the motivator for all of us. We get to see a side of him that we have never seen before.
A few days ago if anyone told Amma's younger brother , he would soon be up on a mountain in Jammu he ( a man of the seas) would be amused. Luckily for us, Mama was in Thrissur on a routine break from his work as the Chief Engineer on the ship. That particular sweltering day in March, he was safely perched on the branches of one of his backyard mango trees with my Aunt Suma holding a plastic cover below. They were working in complete unison- he would pluck the season’s fresh produce and she would aim the bag for him to throw it directly when the fate changing call from Ahmedabad rang in their ears. I think Devi knew he is good at defying gravity.
Today at this hour, I see the sisters being checked upon again and again by their favorite brother and that meant he would go back and forth to help them climb the slope. At about 10pm, he & Arun even went up the alternate route of climbing through steps for a trial to see if that was easier; but though it looked less stressful, it was far more difficult on the knees. Knowing that our family has a proud lineage of weak knees, he conveyed that slopes are better suited to us.
Dad, Shilpa and I are in the center of the group, surging forward with the energy provided by chocolates and coffee. I am impressed by my cousin’s ability to guzzle coffee. I risk taking a peek at the edge of the mountain but dad catches my elbow. I stop one second to take in the view. There cannot be air fresher than what I am inhaling now. It is a full moon night shining bright on the river flowing below over the huge pebbles. I can hear the musical sound of the river gush while I look up to the neighboring mountains. An artist would see this as a suspension of time rendering an unmistakable mythical feel to the whole scenario- It is probably such moments that made Raja Ravi Varma deftly bring out the brush in hand. My 17 year old self thinks “Maybe someday I will write about this moment” None of my friends or rest of the family are richly experiencing this view, this scenery as I am at this point.
My thoughts are broken by the sound of my Valiachan “I think I will reach first”. Children do not accept such challenges quietly so little Arun & I race all of them and ascend with deeper breaths. But in front of us is Valiamma quietly powering on, so we match our strides with her. Truth be told, there is no challenge between any one of us, the trail and destination is the same. We are in this together. What places one ahead of the other are those moments of wavering bouts of high and low energy that places our feet forward.
I see the same fluctuations in little Vidya and her mum- Quietly nestled in the cozy confines of a home in Kerala with just the two of them while my super intelligent uncle works abroad- On that sweltering hot day, she is expertly flipping dosas from the pan to the casserole while threatening Vidya to finish all that is on her plate. She doesn’t know their dog below Vidya’s chair is the one licking it clean including the coconut chutney. The fateful phonecall pauses the naughty one’s activity and here she is today braving the slopes of Trikuta mountain trying to give her daughter an experience of a lifetime that will frame itself in a dusty yet memorable photo album years later.
The ascent is far tougher by now and the strain of it can be felt on my limbs as well. I do not dare to ask how much more though. I turn back to see all my family quietly treading on but where is our heroine? I crane my neck to see Leela Valiamma sitting for a moment – the muscle cramps got the better of her. In a flash, I swoop down , press her knees and she is flanked by suggestions from all of us to jump , stand sit etc when we suddenly heard the sounds of dhol at the slope above.
The most powerful rhythm, the beat that can make you break into a dance - make the pilgrims rush to the sound. We all just stare up at the origin of the sound and before we know it Leela Valiamma beats us all to reach the slope first. At the curve we see the bunch of devout drummers doing their bit to make the trek extraordinary – their magical beat surely did wonders to our protesting legs.
1 am, 6th April – Somewhere up on the mountain
When life puts us through extreme tests of physical endurance, we reach that point where the trail is visible to us but the feet refuse to print on it- that is when the mind takes over making the body operate on an autopilot mode until it reaches the destination. Marathon runners will nod their head at this observation.
The past 6 hours of continuous ascent got tougher with each rising step, our attempts to gulp in air that kept getting thinner and sparser at 5200 feet above sea level make us children and adults weak and vulnerable at one point. In my weakest moment, I think my belief in being able to pray to her was also as sparse as the mountain air.
But the minute we know we are just a couple of miles away from the shrine, our minds release the reserve energy that make us tread faster than before. By now we can see the other pilgrims walking about at the base point of the shrine; most importantly we are on plain ground now. The slopes are behind us. It is now time for action. The elders decide to split in two groups and just when I turn to hug dad because I know he is in Group 2 which means they can sleep till Group 1 gets back. I find myself being led by the elbow by none other than Amma. Valyamma, Leela Valiamma , wait oh there is Acha too in this group. There is an expected long queue.
It is extremely cold now and there is water on the marble slabs marking the way to the cave wherein she sits. I stand barefoot on the wet marble floor but unmindful of the biting conditions because these are just the few minutes before the point of culmination. I look at the women and their excitement is overwhelming. Amma turns back ,“ You have to pray nicely, you have to bend your head” Dad is right behind me so I know her instructions are meant for both of us considering we are the only tall members she loves dearly. She is emotional now- “ Cant believe we reached here” Both my valiammas are speechless. We slowly move forward and before you know it I can see the light from the cave. Security guards surround every turn and they lead every pilgrim by the elbow warning us to bend our heads so that we don’t hit on the low roofing of the centuries old cavern. This is it.. I put my right foot forward
The unbelievable balminess that envelops us coupled with the devout recitals of Jai Mata Di warm every cell in my body. In a flash, I reach the sanctum sanctorum- where everything happens in milliseconds worth of time. Amma moves to the left near the priest while I bow to three earth coloured Pindies . I can sense a powerful vibe but before I absorb the vision in its complete form, we are asked to move ahead.
Readers at this point, I honestly let you know that I did not get a complete feeling of having met her because I expected to pray to an idol , as is the case in most temples, but the sight that greeted me was on the contrary. Something as divine and profound as a five feet and half stone with three rock stumps at the head that have risen on their own (Swayambu) as a manifestation of Goddess Kali, Lakshmi & Saraswati is not something I understood at the age of 17. I felt the power, no doubt, but the satisfaction we seek at the end of brushing with divinity remains till date unsatisfied. I felt her but I didn’t see her. This particular feeling makes me pen the words “A Call from the hills changed it all”
We step out, a smile on everyone’s faces, questions fly to each other- Did you pray? Did you see? We slowly walk down to the base point where the rest get ready to go pray. Group 1 gives instructions to Group 2 – “Don’t forget to bend your head! Don’t forget to look left! Pray well as you will only get a few seconds “warns Leela Valiamma. My uncle has rented blankets which were laid out at a corner on the tarmac on which I remember sliding horizontal in a blink. Sleep claims me for the next couple of hours. (Yes, we slept on the road like every blessed pilgrim) I do not remember who slept where though. A couple of hours later or maybe more, I wake up to yet another unfamiliar sight - the overbearing mountains joined to the base mountain at the hip sharing the same cold winds and a trickle of waterfall under which many pilgrims wet their scalp as a purification process before their round of Darshan. In pure unfiltered daylight, I see the might of what we conquered without sleep just a few hours ago. Sunlight warms me but all I can think of is “I want to do this again! In full consciousness of her existence, I want to see her again”. Something in me has tectonically shifted.
Amma understands my feelings – “Someday you will come back here"
No, Story does not end here.
With me in Group 1, there are more prominent seasoned devotees who conquered the hills and their fear, braved the strong winds, shivered at the touch of ice cold water under their feet, stooped low to enter the cave. My mom and her sisters’ saw, prayed and entered a state of bliss unlike no other. The unmistakable shine in their eyes arising from the happiness of having done it is worth watching.
So now I happily switch over to my mother’s description of this moment because my reader deserves to see Devi through Amma’s pair of purest eyes which already knew long back that this is a chance of a lifetime.
Radha Poduval reporting from the mountains at 3:30 am, 6th April, 1997
The blast of cold mountain air that shocks me at the exit of the cave tells me “It’s over! I saw her!” Rewind to a few minutes ago, by a stroke of luck, while the rest are gently pushed forward, the priest signals for me to move aside. I look down to see the Turmeric and Vermillion powder cover the three swayambu pindies that have a base of glorious shining silk with gold frills at the edge. With my eyes open, my hands automatically close to chant a full 2 minute prayer
Ya devi sarvabhuteshu vishnu-mayeti sadbita
Namas tasyai, namas tasyai, namas tasyai namo namah
Ya devi sarvabhuteshu shakti - rupena samsthita
Namas tasyai, namas tasyai, namas tasyai namo namah
Ya devi sarvabhuteshu bhakti - rupena samsthita
Namas tasyai, namas tasyai, namas tasyai namo namah
I take in every smell, sound and sight of this cave and her abode before the priest hands over the Prasad- The round sugar coated white pearls of saunff with the red gauzy cloth in hand, I turn around to get back in queue. Before I fall back into the crowd, I turn once more to pray – The sight of 3 swayambus remind me of my 3 daughters who are each a symbol of strength and love in their own way. I pray for my sister Lathi and I pray for the well-being of all those who for many reasons could not be a part of this journey, in particular, my mother.
Epilogue:
“ I don’t know if I can ever come back, but I am satisfied” These thoughts echo at the same time in the minds of all but one.
Readers, I place my pen and my words at the shrine. I leave you here gently. You may offer your prayers; you may read again, you may just amble about looking at the view of mountains from the holiest point. I leave you here to descend at your own pace and comfort. You now know the way back home.
Devi, I thank you for your call – 21 years later I gather the courage to attempt to write a bit about you. During the days leading to the completion of this post I have witnessed some divine moments myself – maybe it was your way of keeping me on the path to you. The red gauze cloth suddenly resurfacing years later in my mother’s puja room a day before I finish this post marks one such moment.
I thank Amma for picking up my calls at random hours to shake her memory as a matter of fact I could hear her brains squeezing the memory out, but most importantly I thank her for being deaf to my protests of not wanting to be in this trip!!! I thank my Kuty mama who refused to let us feel our tiredness each time. I thank my Valyachan who knew chocolate was the answer to many of our pains during the hike. I thank my aunts for all those cozy lovely moments we spent together down the hills but up the hill they displayed their firebrand traits in the spirit to conquer. I thank Shilpa, little Arun, Little Vidya and Baby Ashwathy for all the fun moments. I thank dad for well everything in life.
There were times when I got so emotional while writing this, that I had to stop a few times to wipe the tears away. I could have written this in three pages but that would be injustice to my razor sharp memory. Even now as I prepare to stop, my mind screams “We didn’t include this, what about that” But I choose to filter and serve the best of words and belief. At some points, I have added my creative twists just to add an excitement (But you will never guess where). I did this because I know my family inside out. This is the best place to describe what I feel for each and how I saw them when I was 17.
But over and above everything, this is a real story of triumph over all that could have been an obstacle in our paths but we 13 chose to push it aside and reach the top of the mountain.
Jai Mata Di- Until I trek to her again.
Comments
Post a Comment