Revenge of the Chandalas Page 7

  She said, “Why would I object to a visit to a temple? Just make sure we get back before dusk.”

  “This is a horse carriage and not a bullock cart. It won't take an entire day to just get there,” replied Damodar.

  Shatvari smiled and said nothing, even though she knew what he was pointing at.

  Damodar pulled in the reins and motioned his steed towards the wide road in the town's direction. The horse snickered back in reply and kicked with all his feet, and quickly was running like the wind. Soon, the carriage was plying upon a thirty feet wide road made of soil, sand and rocks. Shatvari had never experienced such high pace in her life before. She felt as if her life had again picked up speed, her heartbeat got faster to keep up with the speed of the carriage. Inhibited at first, she soon let go of her resistance and started to enjoy. Her frail body swayed in tandem with the feet of the galloping, white horse. The breeze fondled her hair as if trying to set the lock free.

  Shatvari eased her hand behind her neck and pulled out the pin that held her hair. The lock of hair erupted as if a river broke a feeble dam. The silken hair touched Damodar's shoulders now and then. Shatvari felt as if her hair was connecting her with Damodar's thoughts in a sensuous way. She withheld her hair trying to keep still with her head bent backwards to enjoy the thrill of speed and her fast-moving emotions. Damodar's whole body electrified at the touch of Shatvari's hair. He felt as if she herself touched him to express an emotion they both were incapable to express at that moment. He held the rein of the horse strongly and looked ahead with intent.

  They soon reached at the gate of the temple. The young passengers of a speedy carriage didn't realise when the whole distance was covered. The temple was an enormous structure. About five hundred feet wide and four hundred feet high. A peripheral stone wall of fifteen feet high circled the temple complex. The main door opened towards the north direction. A giant pair of teak wood door of about thirty feet high and twenty feet wide stood with abundant fine engravings depicting divine gods and goddesses. A towering turret of fifty feet high and made of black stones was erected upon the main door. It had the stone etchings of mythological tales from ancient times. A semi-cylindrical top of the turret had four golden urns.

  Damodar stalled the carriage right in front of the gate and moved it along to park it on the right. He asked, “So, shall we go in?”

  “You are asking as if I am an atheist and you need to request me to come in.”

  “One whose beauty can make people believe in the heavenly creation of God, can never be an atheist.”

  Shatvari again wondered why she didn't mind the way Damodar was praising her beauty that day. On previous occasions, it used to make her so uncomfortable. She said, “Seems like you have a long experience in singing praises of girls' beauty. You must have been doing it for long.”

  “You don't need to learn to appreciate beauty. It comes straight from the heart if it's there.”

  “Just keep a tight grip on your heart; you are in God's abode.”

  Shatvari smiled and moved ahead to climb the entrance steps into the temple. Damodar followed her.

  Shatvari had already suspected that Damodar liked her. He had been trying to get close to her since the first meeting at Acharya ji's music lesson. It was up to her to make the next move. Damodar was attractive and educated. Their families were on good terms. But she knew the difference between love and mere attraction. She was trying to find out if there was any speck of love in her present emotions.

  Shatvari was taken aback by the temple's splendour. Resting on top of a twenty feet red stone mound, the temple presented a great sight. A wide set of stairs on the eastern side of the temple went up to the top of the mound. At the top, four, square, stone pillars formed a vestibule. The stone pillars had the Ghat-Pallava style etchings on top and bottom and mythological figures of gods in the middle. Next up was a dance hall—Natya Mandir— resting on twelve stone pillars. The pillars had the engravings of Gandharvas and Apsaras in dance moves. The stone engravings reflected the erotic mood of the dancers. In front of the dance hall was the main hall. Right in the centre of that hall was the adytum that had the four-armed idol of Vishnu made of stone and bricks.

  Leaning against one of the pillars, Damodar teased Shatvari, “So you missed your lesson today, if Acharya ji found out that you had come here instead of going to the lesson, you could get beaten with a stick by him.”

  “The one who is actually responsible for it, should be punished.”

  “Oh really! So, what would the punishment be if you were to decide?”

  “Well... you'll have to make up for the loss. You are also a musician, so why not teach me something I don't know?”

  “I am not an Acharya, but surely I can sing a song if you prefer.”

  “If your song can teach me something new, why not!”

  “I have done an experiment with classical and folk music, see what you make of it.”

  Damodar started an alaap in raga Bhairavi. The tune was of a popular folk song from South Kosala. It was about the love affair of Radha and Krishna. The peppy folk rhythm and tempo of the song instantly struck a chord with Shatvari. Despite being amorous in nature, the song spurred emotions of divine love. Damodar was completely lost in the music.

  Shatvari had never seen Damodar in that way—lost completely in the devotion to music. That was an indication that maybe he also knew the divinity of love. He surely was capable of understanding the spiritual purity of love. Shatvari felt an innate urge to flow with the music. Her shivering feet now burst into a full- fledged dance. The whole arena came alive with Damodar's mesmerizing voice; Shatvari's oscillating feet; and the spiritually alive Natya Mandir with dancers on the pillars descending on the earthly plain.

  Time flew. By the time they came to their senses, Shatvari found herself leaning against one of the pillars with her hands around it. Damodar was still humming on the other side of the pillar. As soon as Shatvari realised that her fingers were brushing Damodar's back, she quickly pulled them back. She drew back and noticed a Gandharva and an Apsara in each other's arms on the pillar in front of her. She dropped her head down and took a couple of deep breaths. After a few more moments, she said, “I think we should leave now.”

  “You are very rude. At least some sort of praise of my song is expected. Do I sing that badly?”

  “No, not at all. You sing really well. Your music made me dance unintentionally.”

  “Yes, I noticed. Where did you learn to dance so well?”

  “I haven't learnt classical dance formally. As you know, society doesn't allow Brahmin girls to dance. It's not considered part of the Brahmin tradition.”

  “I have heard that you don't really care too much about society?”

  “Surely, I am not a narrow-minded person, but I do like to stay within the periphery of civil society and its traditions.”

  “You are right. A society will fall apart without the structure of their traditions.”

  “But when structures become shackles, they stop a society from moving further.”

  “Okay, okay, we shall leave this argument for some other day as we are getting late, it's almost dusk. You should reach home before dark.”

  Chapter 12

  All three arrived at the nearby university where the officer took Neel and Dhananjay to a history scholar.

  “Meet Shri Itivrat. He teaches history here. And these two boys—Badrinath and Kedarnath are students from Taxila. They are studying sociology and they are doing some research on Aryan Civilization. They would appreciate your help.” said the officer.

  Itivrat was a short and plump man with round face. He had a shaved head with only a customary Brahmin ponytail emerging from the top of the scalp. He wore a plain, white loincloth and a simple shirt.

  Neel joined hands to greet him and said, “History teacher? But we are looking to know more about the present civilisation not the ancient.”

  “History creates the present young man. To under
stand the present, you must know the past.” emphasised Itivrat addressing both the newfound students. His cheeks expanded even further when he smiled.

  “But who will give us the knowledge of the present society then?” asked Neel.

  The officer moved up and patted Neel's shoulder and added, “First understand the history then we'll arrange for the present as well, don't worry.” He left the two with the history professor.

  Itivrat motioned both to sit at two wooden chairs placed opposite him and started his lecture.

  “We will start from the Rig Vedic era of the Aryan Civilization. The word 'rig' is a corrupted derivation of an ancient Sanskrit word 'rik', which means praise. The Rig Veda culture was based on paying gratitude and expressing praise and devotion to divine powers with the ritual of sacrificial fires and auspicious mantras. Politically and socially, it was a tribal culture system. The fundamental entity of that society was joint family. It was a patriarchal society with men as the heads of families and a king as the head of the tribe. The king was supposed to be the guardian of the tribe and was referred to as 'gopa', literally meaning the saviour. Since that era our society has been divided into four categories—Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya, and Shudra. This is mentioned in Rig Veda's Purusha hymn in the tenth chapter, where it's said that Purusha, the cosmic being created Brahmin from his mouth and head, Kshatriya from his arms, Vaishya from his thighs, and Shudra from his feet. This signified that their work in the society was as follows—Brahmin to educate and be involved in scholarly pursuits; Kshatriya to act as warriors and protect the society; Vaishya to produce resources for the society with agriculture and trade; and Shudra was to serve all the other three. The system gave Brahmins a top-most place in the society and Shudra was put at the bottom. The economy was based on animal husbandry and agriculture.”

  The professor of history went on about the Rig Vedic culture for some time that made Neel and Dhananjay squirm in their seats and yawn. Suddenly, the professor stopped and said, “I have to stop here and go to teach my other students. We will discuss the rest later when I am back. You can wait here for me.”

  “Sure, but as we are tired due to a long journey, we would rather have the rest of the lecture tomorrow. We also have to arrange for our accommodation,” replied Neel and they both stood up with folded hands.

  “As you wish,” replied the professor with a smile.

  Whilst leaving, Neel and Dhananjay looked at the professor who stood smiling. Neel asked, “Do you want to say something?”

  “Well, only if you could settle today's fees?” the professor's smile widened.

  “Oh yes, why not? How much would that be?” asked Neel. “Only twenty.”

  Neel took out twenty gages from his pouch and handed over to the professor. He realised this would be a costly affair. They would have to find some alternative way. Anyway, the best way to learn about a society is to live and understand it first-hand.

  “It's surprising to see how a scholar and a teacher could be so greedy,” Dhananjay said to Neel.

  “This is a Yaduvanshi state. Things are different here. Remember how that guard boasted. This is what's different about this state,” they both laughed together, “Why don't we just find a place to stay. I'm hungry too, aren't you?”

  “That lecture drained out more of my energy than the journey,” replied Dhananjay.

  They were walking into a narrow lane and saw a huge building with a sign that said 'Dharamshala—All visitors are welcome'. It was a guesthouse. Looking at the lodge, Neel said, “This could be the right place. It is a 'Dharamshala', maybe they abide by some ethics of dharma. So far Sripur has failed to show any glimpse of that.”

  They both entered the guesthouse. At the reception, they saw a broad, wooden table and a man sitting on a comfortable chair across that. He was an elderly man with a normal stature. He wore clean, white clothes and a satin, yellow turban on his head. Small, golden earrings dangled from his ear lobes.

  Neel and Dhananjay greeted him and the man responded back with a similar gesture and said, “Welcome to our guest-house. My name is Sampat. How can I help you?”

  Sampat's humility impressed the duo and they looked at each other with a pleasant surprise. Neel said, “Sir, my name is Badrinath and this is my friend Kedarnath. We are from Takshkhand state's capital Taxila. We are doing research on Aryan Civilization and that's why we have come to your state. We need a place to stay. Can you arrange for our accommodation here?”

  “Yes, why not! This guesthouse's whole purpose is to accommodate visitors like you. How long do you want to stay?”

  “About two to three months.”

  “Okay, no problem, do you have any identity documents?” Neel handed him the papers that the security officer had prepared for them.

  Sampat carefully matched the description provided in the papers. He scanned both a few times and peered back again into the papers. After a few minutes, he said, “Okay. I can arrange for your stay on the second floor. I am sure it won't be a problem for healthy, young men like you. We keep the ground floor for elderly and sick people.”

  “The second floor is okay. How much do we have to pay, Sir?”

  “You are scholars. You have come to our state for study and research. We can't charge a rent from you.”

  Neel and Dhananjay were amazed and looked at each other. This was the kind of incident they were not expecting in Sripur. Neel had thought the politeness of Sampat could be the cunningness of a shrewd businessman.

  Sampat guessed what the duo were thinking. He added, “Don't be surprised. Our sethji is a very liberal religious man. He built this for people like you. We only take rent from those who can afford it and who have a clear source of income. Seeking money from scholars will be a huge sin for us. Society needs more scholars who can illuminate us with the light of the knowledge. We are simply here to serve you as much as we can,” replied Sampat and started to walk, “Please collect your belongings. I will show you your room.”

  They took their leather luggage bags and followed Sampat. The guesthouse was a four-storey building made of bricks. Small stairs at the main gate joined the main entrance that lead to a rectangular open yard. The floor was tiled with stone slabs leaving a raw, earthen space along the perimeter for flower beds, which were vibrant with fresh, colourful flowers of all kinds. There was a paved well on the left with a pulley to draw water. On all four sides of the yard were four storeys full of rooms. A set of stairs to get to each floor was on the right. Washrooms were on the lower floor. The dining room was at the front in the yard on the ground floor.

  Sampat pointed at the dining room, “This is the dining room where you will be offered food twice a day, free of cost. You'll have to come at prescribed times,” Sampat said, “Please make sure not to waste any food. As we believe food is akin to God,” he added.

  Neel and Dhananjay listened intently to Sampat's words. Now the pain they felt at giving a huge bribe to the security officer had subsided. Climbing the stairs onto the second floor, Sampat opened the door of a room and said, “This is your room. Keeping it clean and washing linen and bedding is your responsibility. If you are unwell, just let us know and we will arrange for vaidya and medication for you.”

  The flurry of charitable services showered upon them made Neel and Dhananjay unable to hide their excitement. 'Atithi Devo Bhava'—Guests akin to God—the tradition of the Aryans was still alive. Neel joined hands in polite gratitude and said to Sampat, “We are truly grateful. I am sure your Seth ji is a great soul.”

  Sampat accepted their gratitude and came back to his office. The room was a medium-sized hall with two jute-beds, locally known as khaats. Each had a cotton mattress, white bedsheets and a soft, cotton pillow.

  Neel sat on one of the khaats and said, “Surely, the society, just like the men we encountered, is full of contrasts. This has been an amazing experience so far.”

  “Sure, your Highness, but despite all the contrasts and dichotomies, a society still moves in o
ne direction. That direction always tells the true nature of that society.”

  “I agree. That's why we are here—to find out the true nature of Yaduvanshis. Where is this society heading to?”

  Chapter 13

  Shatvari sat in her room staring blankly at a painting depicting a dance move of an Apasara and a Gandharva. The events of the day kept knocking in her mind. The memories of intermingled poses of Gandharva and Apsara tinkled her sensuality, but at the same time the divine hypnotic voice of Damodar echoed in and out.

  'How mesmerizing is Damodar's voice? Such an unprecedented unity of grace and devotion! Acharya ji always talked about this. If love can adorn the qualities of faith and surrender, it becomes a surrender to the divine. Will Damodar have faith and surrender towards me in his love? Will his love have the same sanctity as his music? Is he the right man for me?'

  While Shatvari was lost in her stream of consciousness, she heard her mother Gautami's voice, “What is the matter Shatvari? You look lost.”

  Shatvari didn't realize when her mother came into the room and was now looking at her stroking Shatvari's hair softly.

  “Nothing really, Ma.”

  Gautami was a short, middle-aged woman, slightly stocky in appearance. She had a very simple and elegant countenance. Long, black hair was pleated in a braid that rested on her back. She wore a blue cotton sari. Simple make-up and just basic jewellery- golden earrings, a garland of white pearl round the neck and glass bangles in her hands.

  “What happened? You seemed very happy in the morning when you left with Damodar. Was there anything Acharya Ji said that dampened your mood?” Gautami sat beside Shatvari still stroking her hair gently.