‘Punditji’ I began, eager to start a conversation with this much publicized man. ‘I have always lived in cities and I have had rarely an opportunity to explore my faith. My parents, too, were not much religious. My father, at any rate, was not. I don’t know much about my mother. She had depths to her character that I think I would never know. Even if she was religious, she never displayed it outwardly.’ I cleared my throat. ‘I have always wondered how I would have been as a person if only I had the backing of my religion; of my faith. This is a question that seldom haunts me. I think you are the one person who could come as close to an answer as it is possible.’
Parichay Mishra was listening to my question with the same tired expression that I had now come to associate him with. His eyes superficially looked into mine and lugubriously registered what I was endeavoring to say. I, though, saw no spark of understanding in them or a hint of pleasure to help a lost soul. He just listened, well, and that’s about it.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked in his slow, affected manner.
‘Sutte.’
‘Well, Sutteji, your question is as old as time itself.’ he said in his tired, monotonous voice. ‘I don’t know anything about you and so I cannot answer your question correctly but one thing I do know.’
‘And what’s that?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘That faith never hurts.’
There was a silence for about two minutes whence I glanced at my friend and saw him looking at the Pundit with rapt interest. I was about to pose a question to break this awkward silence when Parichay Mishra spoke again-
‘When the world was in its inchoate stage and the early man had several questions about his creation that needed immediate answers, he looked towards his surroundings. What did he find then? Rocks, earth, fruits, wind, and the very sky glowing serenely with its thousand stars. He tried to make sense of all that he was seeing and one day he got convinced that all his answers lay hidden in nature itself; his surroundings. He then started to make sense of them as best his primitive knowledge would allow. In the throes of such a quest, he made several discoveries too. Like for example, the fire, agriculture, tools etc. Then he started to evolve. With every piece of discovery, he became more sophisticated and in better possession of tools that would help him to solve his questions at an even rapid pace. Thus with the passage of time, the surroundings that he looked for inspiration and answers, started to transform until it looks the way it does today. But, in all that advancement, he one day realized that he still had no answers to his original question; about the mysteries of his creation. It depressed him to know that he was as in the dark about it as he was a thousand years ago. I ask you now, sir, that what you think impeded that knowledge if he was intelligent enough to accomplish so much?’
‘What?’ I asked, involuntarily.
‘The fact that he had looked in the wrong direction for the ever elusive answer.’
‘Wrong direction?’
‘Yes.’ he replied, with his tired voice that had never left its pitch. ‘For the question to be answered correctly, he should have looked inside himself.’
‘Y…you are right.’ I stammered with the weight of his impressive words. ‘But what has it to do with my question?’
‘Everything’ he replied. ‘The reason why we know so much about this world and so little about ourselves is the fact that we have always looked for answers outside when where we should have looked was inside. Your question, sir, can be best answered by you, had you cared to look inside you. I am not an authority on you but you, yourself, are.’
I blinked my eyes twice. His words were still echoing in my head as I tried to understand the depth of meaning behind every spoken word. ‘But how is one to look inside? How can it be done?’ I asked, desperate.
‘Meditation, observation and reflection.’
His words were accompanied by total silence, broken only by the constant stream of hymns chanted somewhere in the background.
‘And’ he added quietly. ‘Religion.’
‘What you say is absolutely true’ said my friend, looking sharply into Parichay Mishra’s eyes ‘but what if we have deliberately been denied that ability to look inside?’
This time I could see Parichay Mishra’s eyes widen ever so slightly before resuming their normal curvature.
‘What do you mean, sir?’ he asked and in his voice I could detect a dull hint of anticipation and interest.
‘What I meant was that what if we cannot look inside us? What if we have evolved as such as a defence mechanism? After all, evolution ensures that only the useful abilities are kept and the rest discarded.’
‘Defense mechanism? From what?’ I could see that Parichay Mishra was now clearly interested. He was now sitting almost straight in his chair. Much of that lethargy had vaporized.
‘From a certain madness, Punditji.’ my friend replied with an innocent smile.
‘Madness’ he repeated the words as if to himself. ‘And why do you think so, sir? Don’t you want humans to evolve? If you do, then there is no option but to look within and seek what we have been searching for outside.’
‘I don’t want to pull myself into a debate.’ said my friend, relaxing into the chair, but keeping his eyes trained on Parichay Mishra. ‘But I sincerely believe that we are on the right path to evolution. You need not worry about that.’
‘Really?’ said the Pundit, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘If you forgive my curiosity, I would like to know how.’
‘By being human, that’s all.’ said Bhrigu, smiling warmly.
I could detect a faint rise of color in the cheeks of the Pundit. He still looked dull and bored with life in general but the discerning eyes could detect a change in frequency of his toneless voice, the slight dilation of his pupils and the constant effort to raise himself a little straighter in his seat.
‘I am afraid I did not understand.’ he said in a voice slightly sharper and louder.
‘What you just suggested Punditji was going against the very fabric of human nature’ my friend went on, easily. ‘Man can only search for answers about himself by letting his humanity play; by being who he was born to be. Whatever he does, whatever he achieves, whatever he gains, whatever he loses, whatever he accomplishes, whatever he feels goes a little towards understanding mankind. It is not one, complete, grandiose picture we are talking about but countless little pieces that goes into completing the picture. If you look down upon those pieces, you will never, ultimately see the big picture.’
‘And the big picture will reveal…’
‘Some of the difficult answers about creation. As there will always be new life to add to that picture, I think we won’t get all our questions answered, ever.’ replied my friend.
‘But…but what exactly are these small pieces that make up your big picture?’ asked the Pundit. He was now sitting as straight as an arrow; eyes tense and glowing and the corners of his mouth twitching with excitement or resentment, I couldn’t tell.’
‘It could be anything.’ said Bhrigu, smiling broadly. ‘A washerman washing his clothes at a river bank and wondering why the grease wouldn’t come off or a milkman considering selling his cow; a businessman traveling aboard for an important meeting or a housewife anxious about her husband’s weaning interest in her; a gardener trying a new bed of flowers in his garden or an astronaut reaching for the stars. It could be a zillion different activities, a zillion different strokes; small or sweeping, humble or grand, all going into the creation of the big picture.’
‘You mean to say’ said the Pundit with a slight hint of mockery coloring his roused voice. ‘That…that the man over there, the little one, standing at the last of the queue, secretly texting on his cell phone. Are you telling me that he too is answering some important questions about creation?’
‘He also contributes to the big picture, so, yes, undoubtedly.’
‘What utter nonsense!’ exclaimed Parichay Mishra, now clearly excited. ‘Excuse me, sir, but you say the most ridiculous things. You are mocking those learned men who have spent their entire lives away from civilization, seeking answers, reading, meditating, searching…Are you rebuking their efforts? Are you rebuking great men like Swami Vivekananda or Gautam Buddha?’
‘On the contrary.’ said my friend, still smiling. ‘I greatly respect their efforts. But I still maintain that the answers they sought could never be found in isolation. Their teachings were instructive to humanity but they were personal reflections, applicable only to them and hence contributing to the big picture. They weren’t a collective answer on behalf of humanity. It does not work that way.’
‘I give up, sir’ said the Pundit, now rising up. ‘I do not understand your strange theories that mock great men. I now have to participate in the havan. If you could just excuse me, I would now take your leave. It was a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Same here.’ we said, returning the greeting. I saw Parichay Mishra move slowly towards the platform, each heavy step dripping with dignity.
The walk to the Bhakti Niwas was difficult but not quite as much as we had to suffer before. Chiranjeev was silent throughout the journey and it was an added relief. I think he was trying to process how exactly our meeting with his friend had gone. There had been some clash of ideas and he was not quite sure whether Bhrigu had liked his friend or not. Within twenty minutes, the old house loomed closer and who would we find marching anxiously near the great gate? Our host, Nataraj Bhakti and he did not look pleased at all.
‘What is all this?’ he cried, as soon we were at hearing distance. ‘Where did you take my friends and with whose permission?’
‘I took them to the Temple site’ returned Chiranjeev calmly, the man towards whom the heated question was directed. ‘And I think no one needs ask a permission to go to a holy place of worship.’ Then he added on the sly. ‘And why do I need your permission for anything, anyways?’
Nataraj Bhakti fumed as I saw his face go as red as that of a beetroot. If we had cared to take out an E.C.G on him at that moment, I was sure his heart rate would have broken all past records.
‘I…they…what the…’ he stammered, unable to express himself with the force of anger rising inside him; suffocating him and making any speech very difficult. And then he exploded. ‘YOU BRAT! YOU SCOUNDREL! HOW DARE YOU!’
‘Bhaktiji’ Bhrigu said, placing a reassuring hand on our host’s shaking shoulders. ‘Chiranjeev is not to be blamed for anything. It was my request, that’s all. Please, calm down.’
He still looked far above the base line that reads normal but his anger was clearly subsiding as he took a moment to himself; breathing slowly in an effort to compose his nerves. In a matter of minutes, his face returned to almost its normal pallor and he said, almost at the verge of tears- ‘This man will be the end of me. I know he was born to finish me for good. But sir, I did not expect this of you. I was so worried for the past two hours. I did not know where you both had disappeared. You should have at least told me.’
‘I apologize for my conduct, Bhaktiji’ Bhrigu replied regretfully, ‘but I thought our absence for a couple of hours would go unnoticed. That was my mistake.’
‘It’s alright, sir.’ he replied, looking as tired and old as ever. ‘I apologize for my outburst too but this man…’ he said looking at his brother with his eyes spitting fire, ‘I know he has done this on purpose. Just to annoy me. And I know that he must be the one responsible for my…’
‘Bhaktiji’ said Bhrigu with a note of alarm in his voice. ‘Please, let the matter go.’ I knew he was afraid lest the man, in his anger, blurted out why we had come here and thus spoil our plan of learning about his relatives; the only route that was left for us to pursue if we wished to get to the bottom of this strange mystery.
‘Responsible for your what? Tell me?’ It was now Chiranjeev. He looked calm from the outside but the way he stared at his brother clearly told us that he was deeply stirred. ‘For making you bankrupt? For squandering your precious treasure? For…’
‘Chiranjeev ji’ said my friend, again. ‘Please don’t fight. The matter ends here.’
The man did not say a word but looked at his brother with intense hatred and then stomped off like an angry pit bull.
‘Worthless creature.’ said Nataraj Bhakti, at his brother’s retreating form.
‘Bhaktiji’ I said, unable to contain myself anymore. ‘How can you live amid so much hatred? Isn’t it taxing? I mean from the moment we came here, I have observed that whenever you and your brother happen to come face to face, it always results in a very nasty fight.’
‘It is very taxing, sir, very’ he replied with a deep sigh. ‘But I do not get the chance to meet him often. I either confine myself to my room or go visit my friend Manjunath. That’s why my days are quite peaceful.’
‘But did you not just say that he constantly bothers you for money? That must be a perpetual source of annoyance to you.’
The man took a deep breath and then exhaled noisily. ‘One has to live with what one’s got. When I think I can take it no more, I remind myself that he is my brother and that helps in controlling my anger.’
‘That’s wise of you.’ said my friend and gave our host such a queer look that again got me thinking what he had now discerned that was obviously not obvious to me.