I do not
remember whether it was in Udayagiri or Dhabalgiri that I got so scared. There
were some two hundred steps leading up to the temple of Maheswar, a benign form
of Lord Shiva and we were just half way through. Susamadi had already given up
on trying to get to the temple after climbing some twenty steps or so, though
she was quite young compared to Ma. But not my Ma! And now she was panting,
somewhere half way through and her heavy and laborious breathing was taking
the wits out of me.
The three of
us, Susamadi, Ma and I were on the last leg of our India trip, not the whole of
India though, some parts of the north, south-west India; and on our way back to
Kolkata via some holy and historic places in Orissa and Gaya in Bihar in the
east, where Ma wanted to make the rice offerings to the memories of late Baba
and my grandparents. We had been out of home for more than a month and the trip
was beginning to wear all of us out. That day, earlier standing near the periphery
of the huge steps, I did not realize
what a herculean task the climb was going to prove to be!
Ma was
panting so hard that I felt that she might collapse any time soon and what was
I going to do then? She was healthy and bulky, weighing over 80 kg and I was
always the little one; frail, underweight, dependent and indecisive. What was I
to do if she, due to the sheer fatigue of the climb, lost her balance and fell
tumbling down the steps?
The accusing
voice of my siblings (not that anyone of them ever scolded or rebuked me)
started buzzing in my ears as panic began taking hold of me, up there in the
middle of the painful climb to the temple of Maheswar. It must have happened a
lot quicker than it is taking me to write now, in the blink of a minute or two
at the most. I cannot recollect at this moment exactly if I had started praying
(an atheist as I was then, I was no good at praying), when vision cleared
somewhat in her eyes opening slowly and her breathing, though not exactly
normal, was not as heavy and laborious as it was earlier. The next moment, she
turned to me with that typical look of reassurance. Having pulled herself
together and tugged at my hand, Ma in the meantime, was determined to climb the
steps once more!
“Ma, let’s
not go any further. Let’s turn back now, if you are not feeling up to it …” I
could have spoken to a deadpan as well.
“Na, Baba, when He has brought us thus far,
we have to keep moving. There’s no knowing if we’ll get another chance to
answer His call again …..”
I was in a fix,
not knowing whether to listen to Ma and keep moving up, or if I should call out
for some help, ignoring her desire. She had climbed the next couple of steps by
then and turning right. I thought it best to keep pace with her, clinging on to
her hand to provide whatever support I could. Next we had to walk over a huge
boulder that connected to the next step. And rather than me assuring her, she
was the one who inspired hope in me at that moment.
“When Baba
has brought us this far, He will definitely not disappoint us. He will not let
us go back without the darshan ( a look at the altar).” Some
experiences, beliefs and faith in life are better left unexplained!
All the way
through, I was simply overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation, by her
unshakable faith in god. But above all, by her unflinching, indomitable spirit
and determination. As we were heaving and panting (by that time, the uphill
climb was beginning to tell on me as well), a lady in her mid-thirties emerged
from behind a rock a few steps up and was kindness personified in saying:
“Sitting up
from here I’ve been observing you two.” Then turning to me she went on,” Having
a tough time, Na? Why don’t you let me help you …?”
Then without
waiting for my answer, she stepped down to take my Ma by her right hand, while
I held her by her left. And then up we went one step at a time. Then two, with
some ninety-five more to go!
Finally,
after what seemed like eternity to me, we made it to the temple. I have
forgotten to tell you, Reader that my Ma was in her mid-seventies at that time.
And there was another reason why we were making the trip all over India. As I
was around 23 or 24 at that time and still jobless, my late Ma was sure that
visit to some holy places in India would break the evil spell that I had wrought
upon myself a few years back, when I broke a photo of Govindo Dev ( a form of Lord Krishna) into pieces after my
favourite football club, Mohan Bagan had lost a closely contested match against
its arch rival, East Bengal!
Later on in
life, when faced with numerous critical situations, I have nearly given up or
despaired, finding no way out, I have awakened to the understanding,
albeit a little slowly, that I cannot change things and I have very little control
over their outcomes. At some of these moments, the vision of my late Ma,
wearing a red-bordered sari, with the vermilion mark glowing on her forehead, beneath the parting of her
hair in the middle; fatigued beyond imagination; panting yet steadily moving up
and on in her conviction of the great God not deserting her when she needed Him
the most, guiding her through the near hopeless climb to His abode, flashes
through my mind to berate my shaky resolve and lack of purpose. I realize then that in order to achieve one’s targets, to enjoy
life to the fullest, to spread love and happiness; one has to be steadfast in
determination and spirit. What is more, one must not forget the omnipresence of
The Almighty at all times. He is there all over, all around us, watching our
every step and move, making sure we do not falter or go astray. And if we so
much as try to plea for His mercy and helping hand, He will rush down in any
form beknownest to us.
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