A forward from T R Subramanian, edited for readability:
“There is a popular breakfast point near our factory, we often visit.
Many times, I have noticed that a person comes in, eats and sneakily leaves without paying. taking advantage of the crowd.
One day while he was eating, I wisened up the owner to what was about to happen, discreetly pointing to the stranger.
The owner smiled and said he was quite aware of it, but would let him go and that we will talk about it later.
As usual, the brother treated himself to a good breakfast, looked around and, mixing with the crowd, quietly slipped away.
After he had left, quite intrigued, I now went up to the owner and asked him why he had let the man go… was he related to him…from wife’s side? 🙂 Or, some old debts being discharged? But then why the sneakiness of an offender?
The answer given by the owner of the breakfast point left me open-mouthed.
He told me I wasn’t the first to tell him, many others as well have noticed the stranger and alerted him.
He said this man would stand across the road and when he observed the shop was sufficiently crowded, he would strike – sneak in and eat.
Then why in the world…may be his idea of doing day’s charity?
The owner continued:
“I always ignored it and never stopped him…never caught him nor ever tried to disrespect him.
Because I think the rush in my shop is due to the prayer – call it wishes if you prefer – of this brother… He would be standing in front of my shop wishing for a rush so he could…and sure enough a crowd always collected in quick time as if in answer…
I do not want to invite my misfortune by cutting my own leg in the matter of this prayer and its acceptance by the gods he was earnestly beseeching…I will always let him eat such food…will never disrespect or corner him in any manner!!!“
In fact I have seen the owner getting visibly restless if the stranger did not turn up at the appointed hour in a day!!
I witnessed the scene playing out unfailingly every time I went in for long as I worked at that factory.“
It is a practice started since last few months, of doing one’s bit in this lockdown period.
Of the many street vendors, there was this man selling flutes. The flutes were mounted on a central support which he hoisted on his shoulder. As he went around, he would announce himself to the flat-dwellers by playing some popular tune on his flute. It was once a week or in ten days.
Times are tough. Buyers, mainly children, were not exactly flocking. Feeling sorry for him, it became my routine to go down hurriedly to catch him before he moved away and thrust the money into his hands. Initially I had to explain to him. Not anymore. He knows I’m not buying anything. We would exchange namaste with a smile and be done. With an act that might dent the self-respect even a wee-bit of a man who was putting in honest work to earn a living – wasn’t a alms seeker – it was embarrassing to prolong the interaction beyond the minimum. Also it couldn’t be more substantial than what it was.
So, it was a couple of days ago. I heard him – I mean his tune – and rushed down. Finding the rupees from one of those half a dozen purses lying around, most of them empty, then putting on the face-mask and then carrying my bulk down the stairs, panting thru the mask, took a little while. By then, he had moved. It was not a problem without remedy – I could always call out to him. But this time from where I stood, I could see he was not my regular, but a new guy wearing a characteristic lungi. I came away. I did not want to begin servicing a queue of new guys besides the regular. For, I had plans to spread out my meager resources over more regulars in the beat.
‘So what? You should have given him something, may be not as much as you give your regular,’ my wife said.
So, I grabbed a fifty and went down again. He had moved even farther down. A watchman of the building (apartment complex) opposite ours knew my routine – he let out a high-decibel shout, getting the flute-seller’s attention.
He turned around and slowly made his way to me. He was an old man, his teeth hopelessly paan-stained. I gave him the rupees I carried adding a short explanation. He recovered quickly and blessed me in the name of all-kind Allah. And, looking at me clad in southie-style dhoti and only a towel covering my upper torso – remember, I came down in a hurry? – he hastened to add ‘Jai Shri Ram.’
Given my strong leanings, I should have been thrilled. Somehow I was not. That he felt compelled to say left me strangely sad. Was I imagining? I was also kicking myself for not having carried the usual hundred. Hope he lets me make amends in the days ahead.
At the end of the wedding party, her mother gave her a newly opened bank savings passbook, with $1000 deposited in it.
She told her, “My dear daughter, take this passbook. Keep it as a record of your married life. Whenever something happy and memorable happens in your new life, put some money in. Write down what it’s about next to the amount. The more memorable the event is, the more money you can put in. I’ve done the first one for you today. Do the others with your husband. When you look back after years, you will know how much happiness you’ve both shared.”
She shared this with him after getting home.
Both of them thought it was a great idea and couldn’t wait to make the next deposit!
This is what the passbook looked like after a while:
7 Feb: $100, his first birthday celebration after marriage
1 Mar: $300, she gets a salary raise
20 Mar: $200, vacation to Bali 15 Apr: $2000, She’s pregnant!
1 Jun: $1000, He gets the big promotion and so on…
However, as the years went by, they began fighting and arguing over trivial things. They didn’t talk much. They regretted that they had married the most nasty person in the world…There was no more love.
One day she talked to her Mother. “Mom, we can’t stand it anymore. We have decided to divorce. I can’t imagine how I decided to marry this guy!”
Her mother replied, “Sure, that’s no big deal. Just do whatever you want, if you really can’t stand it. But before that, do one thing. Remember the savings passbook I gave you on your wedding day? Take out all money and spend it first. You shouldn’t keep any record of such a poor marriage.”
She agreed with her. So she went to the bank, and was waiting in the queue to cancel the account. While she was waiting, she took a look at the passbook record. She looked, and looked, and looked. Then the memory of all the previous joyful moments came back to her. Her eyes were filled with tears. She left and went home.
When she got home, she handed the passbook to him and asked him to spend the money before getting divorced.
So the next day, he went to the bank, and was waiting in the queue to cancel the account. While he was waiting, he took a look at the passbook record. He looked, and looked, and looked. Then the memory of all the previous joyful moments came back to him. His eyes were filled with tears. He left and went home. He gave the passbook back to her.
She found a new deposit of $5000. And a line next to the record: ”This is the day I realized how much I’ve loved you throughout all these years. How much happiness you’ve brought me.”
They hugged and cried, putting the passbook back into the safe.
“When you fall in any way, don’t see the place where you fell, instead see the place from where you slipped. Life is about correcting mistakes.”
Three people came to him dragging a young man with them and said to him:
‘O King!! This man has murdered our father.’
Obatala: ‘Why did you kill their father?’
Young man: ‘I’m a goatherd. My goat ate from their father’s farm, and he threw a stone at my goat and it died; so I also took the stone and threw it at their father and he also died.’
Obatala: ‘Because of this, I pass judgment, on charge of murder, by sentencing you to death.’
The Young man said: ‘Oh King, I ask for 3 days before you execute the judgment. My late father left me some wealth and I have a sister to take care of. If you kill me now, the wealth and my sister will have no guardian.’
Obatala: ‘Who will stand for your bail?’
The Young man looking into the crowd, pointed at Lamurudu.
Obatala asked: ‘Do you agree to stand for him, Lamurudu?’
Lamurudu answered, ‘Beeni (yes).’
Obatala enquired further: ‘You agree to stand for someone you don’t know, and if he doesn’t return you’ll receive his penalty.’
Lamurudu answered: ‘I accept.’
The Young man left; but after two days and into the third day, there was still no sign of the Young man.
Everyone was afraid and sorry for Lamurudu who had accepted to receive the penalty of death if the man failed to return.
Just before it was time for meting out the punishment to the poor Lamurudu, the goat herdsman appeared looking very exhausted and he stood before King Obatala.
The Young man spoke up: ‘I have handed the wealth and the welfare of my sister to my uncle and I am back to receive the penalty. You may execute the penalty now.’
In great shock and surprise, Obatala said: ‘And why did you return after having a chance to escape the death penalty?’
Young man: ‘It would then appear humanity has lost integrity and the ability to fulfill promises kept.’
Obatala turned and looked at Lamurudu and asked him: ‘And why did you stand for him?’
Lamurudu responded: ‘It would then appear humanity has lost the will to do good to others.’
These words and events moved the complainant brothers who had wanted justice for their father’s death very deeply and they decided to forgive the young goat herdsman.
A furious Obatala asked: ‘Why?!!’
They said: ‘It would then appear as though forgiveness has lost place in the heart of humanity.’
In the holy city of Kashi – the oldest inhabited in the world, it’s said – there lived a cloth merchant Shivendra with his family of wife and three sons: Vishwa, Shambu and Hara. In a city boasting a hoary history for weaving brocades of silk and gold and cotton, Shivendra thrived in his business; textiles were a passion for him – sourcing top quality material, engaging artisans who conceived both traditional and innovative new designs and wove magic…coupled with his business acumen. Over time, his products became iconic with people coming from far and near to buy from him.
While the going was great, the stress of doing business was slowly getting to him. The sons helping him out observed he was getting slower on his feet, going about with greater effort. He did not go out to meet his suppliers and major customers as often as he did before – it required him to be on his feet longer. His visual acuity also was not as good as before – he was often passing defective material both at input as well as output that merited outright rejection in line with the high standards they had set for themselves.
Worst of all, he was increasingly losing his cool with his family over trivial matters, with vendors and customers during negotiations thereby seriously hurting the business. The sons saw this was more due to his lack of adequate sleep in the nights, an ailment he suffered from as far back as they could remember, rather than an innate part of his makeup. All kinds of mantriks and tantriks were called in to no avail. Reconciled to his lot he gamely carried on. Was it a genetic disorder? His past karma as some observed? Only now, it was beginning to show in ways that perceptibly impacted family life and business too.
The sons were fond of Shivendra, still young in his early sixties. They put their heads together wanting to do something about it. Finally it was decided one of them by turn would go out seeking remedies that must exist in some part of the land while the other two would stay back to help their father and the family. The parents reluctantly agreed after they were convincingly reassured about his safe return within a month or two.
Thus one day Vishwa set out northwards on his horse, adequately equipped. Set to go for the Himalayas in search of holy men (sadhu’s, yogi’s) for a miracle cure, he rode for several days until he reached outskirts of Sitamarhi (about 150 kosh or some 500 kms away by today’s measure), said to be the birthplace of Sita. Still an hour away from the town and it was getting dark, he stopped for an overnight halt at a village, taking shelter in a mandapam (a four or more pillared stone structure) standing by itself in the middle with the shrine it had served disappearing long ago without a trace.
Secured his horse to a tree nearby and settled down to watch idly the happenings in the village. It was just a single street lined with squat houses, about a dozen of them. Men folks were returning home from farms and wherever, the women lighted up lamps in their houses and children back in their pen after play-time. After a while, a kind lady from one of those houses came to him inquiring if he wanted water. Soon another came to him with some roti and sabzi, followed by some fodder for his horse too! Villages in our land were known for their hospitality even to strangers!
In an hour things quietened down further with no one appearing on the street. That’s when he saw an old man – must be in his seventies – emerge from the farthest house on the street, accompanied by a young man. The man walked with firm footing in the failing light, refusing to hold the hand offered by the young man. They came down on the street and walked slowly looking down all the time not missing an inch as if they were searching for something. On inquiry, the young man informed him it was indeed so. Earlier in the evening, his wife had dropped somewhere while walking on the street her diamond nose-ring. So?? Well, the old man was the vaidya (medicine man) revered in the village and had the sharpest pair of eyes. So it was…and truly in a few minutes he found the ring lying partially hidden under a stone!
Vishwa was mightily impressed by what he saw. He requested some time from the old man.
On the following morning, he went up to the vaidya’s house and told him all about his father and family and the purpose of his visit. He wanted some medicine to improve his father’s eyesight so he could as before keep a hawk’s eye on the business.
The old man patiently heard him out, asked a few questions…he then went away to the back of his house and returned after a while with a bamboo canister in his hand containing an herbal potion to be given to his father first thing every morning for a week…no need to continue thereafter. More importantly, he was required to do a few activities without fail to go with the potion and even after, never to be discontinued. Results would begin to show in about four weeks. All this, not before teasing him about the inevitability of ageing.
Something about the old man made Vishwa believe in him. He respectfully thanked the old man for his help, offered him appropriate dakshina (fees) and took leave of him carrying the canister carefully.
All at home were quite happy to see him with his horse back safely – it had been only a month.
He explained his consultation with the vaidya. Happily for him everyone agreed on the new regimen he suggested to be put in place as early as the following morning.
The day began with Vishwa’s mother giving Shivendra the potion first thing in the morning.
It was not just with the potion. Shivendra reached the workplace before anyone else. He threaded every needle and loaded every loom ready for operation. When the workmen arrived at their workplace, they were surprised to see it was all set up ready to go. Shivendra waved them away when they fondly fussed about his straining his eyes needlessly, insisting on doing it again whenever needed during the day. All the same they were enthused and energized by their master ‘soiling his hands’ on the shop-floor like one of them in a new practice that had come to stay. It showed in the output at the end of the day.
Exactly what the vaidya had ordered!
In about three weeks they saw Shivendra doing it in half the time he took to begin with! Things got better where it mattered – he was catching flaws easily in the finished product passed by others. Likewise with the input yarn going onto the looms. The final validation came in by way of fewer customer complaints. And not just at work, it showed in the house kitchen too – his wife was happy and impressed to see him help her in her daily chores by unerringly hand-picking stones and mud-balls clean off the rice that went into the cooking pot,
A couple of months passed. One day, Shambu came up to express his desire to go out for a while like Vishwa did, to do his bit for the family. Vishwa told him how the vaidya he had met, certainly not a day younger than seventy five, had walked effortlessly without any help – he was the man if anyone could help their father with his legs. And it was now in evidence he genuinely cured. So it was agreed Shambu would exactly follow his brother’s footsteps, reach the village and consult the vaidya. It was worth a try.
On day 8, Shambu reached the vaidya’s house.
He was told by a young man, his attendant and household help, master was away on his morning routine to collect fresh herbs from up the hill nearby…he should be back anytime now. Did he hear right? Up the hill? Yes, he did it every day, Not once, but once in the morning and once in the evening – some herbs need picking only in the evening, the attendant told him. He sat down on the thinnai (porch) waiting for the vaidya’s return. In a little while, he saw a light drizzle sending towards the house an old man he rightly guessed to be the vaidya in a hurry without a stumble or slip, Muttering more to himself the ground would turn slushy in no time, he gave a perfunctory nod to Shambu and went in. Giving him a little time to dry himself and settle down, Shambu knocked and entered almost feeling sorry for imposing himself thus on the old man. .
When he identified himself, the old man did not appear to mind the intrusion. Recalling his meeting with Vishwa, he inquired about their father and was happy to learn his patient, unmet, was doing better. So why was Shambu here? If the potion given was exhausted, there was no need for more to be given, he already had said. Thereupon Shambu clarified he had come for a different purpose – it was his father’s problem with his legs and his curtailed movements. The vaidya heard him out patiently, threw a few questions and as before at the end he gave him a bamboo canister containing an herbal potion with same instructions – to be given to his father first thing every morning for a week…no need to continue thereafter. More importantly, he was required to do a few activities without fail to go with the potion and even after, never to be discontinued. And wait for four weeks for the results to show.
On his return, Shambu shared his consultation with the vaidya. With everyone in agreement, the new regimen was rolled out from the very next day.
Once again, the mother was entrusted with the job of giving Shivendra the potion every morning for the week it lasted. At lunch, he had porridge of crushed oats, horse gram and sprouts, sitting next to his horse also feeding on the same though prepared differently along with some green grass. This was to be his largely unchanging luncheon menu, minor tweaking permitted, for three days in a week henceforth. The horse seemed to love sharing the table with the master!
On two other days he went out and met his suppliers and major customers, collecting inputs directly from the field. They too were happy to meet him and be heard. With improved bonding, many irritants of little value were not allowed to get out of hand simply though talking it out, letting them focus their energies on more substantial issues they faced. On one occasion, a supplier in jest remarked Shivendra would do well to tell his wife to guard him against any ‘evil eye’; for he had heard from many in their circles say these days he went about like a young horse, defying his age.
Which his wife duly did, exorcising any evil spells, by performing the prescribed rites, when he carried the supplier’s tale back home.
So some more months passed. While things were a lot better Shivendra still had the occasional bouts of irritation, impatience and anger. The lack of adequate sleep in the nights was telling. Did cause some setbacks in business and loss of goodwill; though not irreparable, a lot of energy and effort went into retrieving the situation whenever it happened.
One day, the youngest son Hara came up to say it was time he also did what he could. This time both Vishwa and Shambu advised him strongly to go back to the same vaidya, citing the successes they have had with his cures. So he set about following the same route as the other two.
It was the tenth day and he was standing in front of the vaidya giving him an update on his father and telling him about his father’s problem of insomnia and how it affected life at home and workplace. This time the vaidya asked Hara questions at length about his father, his personal and professional life. Asking him to wait, he went inside the house.
Half an hour had passed, still no sign of the vaidya. Hara inquired with the attendant. The attendant informed him his master was meditating in his room. Wrong timing, should have come a little later after he had finished his morning prayers, Hara thought to himself.
Another half an hour passed. Hara was pacing up and down impatiently now bordering on irritation. Again when he made inquiries, the attendant told him his master was scribing on palm leaves. Strange, they – his brothers – had never warned him to expect this. What was happening?
And then the vaidya emerged from inside. What, no bamboo canister in his hands? Instead, something wrapped in silk. Hara’s heart sank – may be the vaidya could not find in all this time a cure for the ailment in his books.
As if he read his mind, the old man said there was no easy cure for his father’s ailment. From all that Hara had told him and revealed by meditation, it appeared to be karmic in nature. There was no option but to live with it as he was doing presently. However it is fury could be somewhat mitigated thru medication…
Hara breathed easy.
The old man then asked him to take the package in silk to his father. In it was the medicine that would give him some relief from the ravages of the affliction. Must be handled carefully during the return journey, else the contents could crumble to pieces. This was as best as he could do.
Profusely thanking him and offering a generous dakshna Hara headed back home.
They eagerly gathered around him, though a little disappointed he returned without the all too familiar bamboo canister. With the father’s permission, they opened the package taking great care not to damage the contents. In it there was no medicinal pudi (powder) or potion, but two palm leaves containing a prescription message from the vaidya.
They wondered if it would work. Nevertheless they decided to give it a try, beginning with once a week and stepping it up if it indeed worked. There must be something in what the vaidya said – he had not so far let them down.
It was the first day of their trial. A couple of hours before dinner Hara and his father set out to a neighboring village, much bigger than theirs, a kosh (about 3.5 kms) away. Prayed at the Amman koil (female deity). Came out and distributed food packets they had carried to the poor, handicapped, mentally deranged and destitute that usually collected outside, holding each one’s hands for a moment and possibly looking into his eyes – this part was specially emphasized on those palm leaves (social distancing was not in force then). They indeed felt they were giving out more than the food.
It wasn’t late for dinner when they returned after the good walk. The entire evening had been a wee bit tiring for Shivendra.
Hara found his father…a strange kind of peace on his face, more affable? …usually the first hour was the worst. May be he did catch some sleep after the rather busy evening.
In the evening, assessing the day, the family decided they should do it more often.
Sleep or not, one thing Shivendra certainly gained over the days was awareness and goodwill in the neighboring village with the inevitable rub-off on the business sure to follow.
Two months later with all the gains continuing through sustained efforts…the family was breathing easy and their business back on even keel thanks to the vaidya – he had been awesome, right for the third time and how!
Yes, joy ofgiving (charity) to the less fortunate seemed to be the antidote, satisfying to the soul, for ones inescapable karma…especially the touch and look – that was a brilliant stroke, pure magic.
(explanation would be needed about karma and soul)
There was this man, spiritually minded, going to satsang (religious/spiritual discourses) every day.
Observing him over several days, one day his parrot from its cage asked him where he was going so regularly.
He explained it to the parrot a guru had come into the town and he was conducting satsang and that’s where he was going. He further added the guru was an erudite person speaking with insight on various topics including high philosophy, not for birds and issues from mundane daily life too.
‘Will you then be kind enough to do me a favour?’
‘Certainly, tell me what would you like me to do for you?’
‘Will you ask him how long it would be before my freedom?’
‘Am so glad you too are yearning for moksha (eternal salvation). Perhaps my association? Surely the guru would have something to tell you.’
The man returned from the satsang after a couple of hours.
The parrot had kept awake beyond its usual sleep-time waiting for him:
‘So, please tell me what did guruji say? What were his precise words?’
‘You’re out of luck, boy.’
‘Why? He refused to…’
‘Oh, no…nothing of the sort. I did take you question to him.’
‘He heard me and suddenly right before me he fell unconscious…don’t know what came over him…his disciples rushed to his side. In the ensuing pell-mell I came away. I didn’t want them to think I had anything to do…’
‘Oh, so it was…’ the parrot fell silent.
The man got up and went about his morning chores.
After a while, it occurred to him there was no sounds coming from his parrot, usually in good cheer in the mornings.
He went up to the cage and saw the bird lying motionless on the base.
OMG, dead? Had it attained moksha it yearned for? Guru’s blessings?
May be it was alive yet. He took the bird in his hands and ran his fingers gently over its back in an attempt to comfort and revive it.
After a few seconds suddenly the bird came alive, flapped its wings and flew out of his hands and away.
The man was startled.
In the evening, the satsang was held like always. The guru appeared no worse for the incident of the day before.
Once the discourse was concluded, the man went up to the guru and solicitously inquired about his well-being and also narrated the strange incident of his parrot.
The guru smiled: ‘Your bird was smarter.’
Vexed as he was, our man did not pursue the subject any further.
of the town was clearly lived in by not-so-affluent class evidenced by the
residential buildings and streets that had long left behind any claims to aesthetics,
beauty and pride.
An area whose inhabitants forever needed to borrow funds. A need ably served by Ja and a few other smaller lenders, resident right in their midst; family gold, silver or any other valuable would be pawned with them in return for ready cash, at an interest rate far higher than banks.
In operation for years, Ja was comparatively reasonable with his interest rates. He played it by some simple rules giving away no quarter nor taking any – the debtor stood no chance of earning any remission under any circumstance. While compassion, mercy…did not find a place in his line of business, he saw himself, far from being a usurious demon, filling as he was a critical void in public services by helping out people in dire need who had nowhere to go. Funds were often needed for functions in the family that had to be celebrated in a certain style regardless of the means affordable. There were health issues, school/college fees and a zillion other reasons for needing money urgently. Not infrequently people even borrowed for helping out a relative or a friend too.
Looking at him doing well for himself and his family, it might seem here’s was a guy who did no work whatsoever, produced nothing, never sweated, yet earned a living and more sitting on his gaddhi. That wasn’t so. Ja too had his anxious moments and sleepless nights; some pawned clever fakes and, with some, the accumulated debt far exceeded the value of the pawned stuff. While his client-base and hence the business grew, repayment defaults were piling up, burrowing for the first time visible creases on his forehead.
Far from becoming an object of disdain generally reserved
for his profession, he grew to be a respected member of his society. He was the
community’s representative in dealing with the municipal offices over many
day-to-day issues. And, even became the managing trustee of the local temple.
This time it was Navaratri – ten days of devotion and
celebrations, including music programs, dance, drama and discourses. Ja’s young
son recently inducted into the business undertook the task of arranging all
On the penultimate day, the discourse had attracted a reasonable attendance, Ja included, considering it was preachy, promising little by way of entertainment.
The pravachan was about: ‘There’s Hell To Pay – The Unforgiving Karma’.
Some excerpts from the pravachan to give a flavor of
how it went:
“…When you wantonly kill an ant, not only you have
committed the sin of killing a living being, but also the ant’s ledger book of punya
and paap gets transferred to you…In our villages, they don’t kill
creepies/crawlies. The generally immobilize them with a dollop of cow-dung. And
then it is put away in the backyard…”
“…Bhishma Pitamah suffered his final moments lying on
a bed of arrows. A karmic pay-back of his cruel act in a previous birth of
piercing bodies of insects with needles…”
So it was an exposition at length on the theme of righteous living laced with illustrative and instructive anecdotes, to save oneself from inescapable karmic consequences.
The pravachan concluded with a mention of a few torments
of Yama (God of Death) in Hell for sinners after their death, listed in Garuda
Purana such as these:
“Tamisram (heavy flogging) – Those who rob/cheat others of their wealth are bound with ropes by Yama’s Servants and cast into the naraka (Hell) known as Tamisram. There, they are given a thrashing until they bleed and faint. When they recover their senses, the beating is repeated. This is done until their time is up.
Andhatamtrsam (flogging) – This Hell is reserved for
the Husband or the Wife who only treats the spouse well for profit or pleasure.
Those who forsake their wives and husbands for no apparent reasons are also
sent here. The punishment is almost the same as Tamisram, but the
excruciating pain, suffered by the victims on being tied fast, makes them fall
Rauravam (torment with snakes) – This is the Hell for
sinners who seize and enjoy another man’s property or resources. In this Hell, the
cheated, assume the shape of “Ruru”, a dreadful serpent and torment the
sinners severely until their time is up.
Avici (turned into dust) – This naraka (Hell) is
for those who are guilty for false witness and false swearing. They are hurled
from a great height to be utterly smashed into dust on reaching the ground.
They are again restored to life and the punishment is repeated till the end of
Three days after the curtains were brought down on the festivities, Ja appeared unusually in good cheer. ‘Pink back on his cheeks, a spring in his stride, a song on his lips, his turban at a jaunty angle and all that sort of a thing…’ as PGW(odehouse) would have pictured him.
For, in those days, unexpectedly Ja received a slew of hopelessly overdue repayments, a great relief!!
Things turning out as he had intended and hoped was a matter
of immense satisfaction to the son. After all, the discourse and its subject
were his idea; especially closing with those slokha’s (verses) from Garuda
Purana (a compendium of 19,000+ verses) designed to thoroughly chasten any
It also produced an unintended consequence: Ja dropped his interest rate by a couple of points with immediate effect! He also wrote off in deserving cases a good part of the unpaid interest burden. Recall, Ja too was in the audience.
Source: Images from Gyansagarji_Pravachan (Wiki), kismatconection.com and m.dailyhunt.in/