Nostadarmus and the Wandering Indian Yogi

Nostadarmus once met a wandering Indian Yogi who was in Europe because of his fascination for underdeveloped races. When Nostadarmus came to know that the Yogi was also adept in Astrology, he showed him his manuscripts. The Yogi just took two leaves out and closed his eyes. Moments later he said,“ ‘Japan wins the World War II, sets up a puppet government in the U.S.A. and exploits its oil. Fifty years later American terrorists bring some tall towers down in Japan’,

‘Netaji becomes the ruler of India. Under Japan’s pressure he banishes Gandhiji from active politics. Nehru is imprisoned at Manchuria but Netaji tells the world that he died in an accident. After Netaji takes to Sannyasa at the age of 100, his party props up his German wife for the Nation’s leadership. Nehru’s grand-daughter-in-law raises the foreign-origin issue and fights against her’. You’ve written thus, but I see differently.

I’ve seen only two samples but that’s enough. You’re much mistaken”

Nostadarmus was devastated. His dreams lay shattered.

The Yogi glanced at him and said kindly, ‘don’t worry, I’ll tell you a way out’.

Nostadarmus looked up eagerly.

‘I see you are good at nonsensical verses. You just write many such verses. You’ll become famous’ the Yogi said.

‘But I want to become famous as an astrologer’ Nostadarmus cried.

‘All right. I know a magic spell, which I learnt from a great rope-trick specialist. You write your nonsensical verses and put this spell on them. People will always find true meanings in them and hail you’ the Yogi said.

Nostadarmus knew only one magic spell but that made him the world’s best-known Astrologer.

Swami Sampurnananda Genre 273, 23 Jan 2004, Netaji’s Birthday, Lalgarh

Parallel ?

Govinda called out ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’. His two cows with their calves ran ahead of him. One of the calves playfully nudged against him. The animals settled themselves to grazing. Govinda’s friends, Mrinal and others asked him, “Govinda, sing that ‘dimiki dimiki dimi’ song, please!’. Govinda didn’t oblige till his friends had begged him for sufficiently long. Then he sang in his slightly squeaky but pleasant voice. Others too joined him. Soon they came to their favourite mango tree. Govinda led them past the hedge and up the tree. After they had nearly filled their pockets, they espied the wild-eyed monk whose placid meditation they had disturbed. In a trice they were out and were munching their mangoes each busy with their cows.
‘Your aunt Kamsai will call you tomorrow’ a voice said abruptly near Govinda. Govinda looked up and saw a boy who looked much like him.
‘I am your twin Govinda’ the newcomer said. That satisfied Govinda.
‘You’ll go to Mathurgarh. I’ll meet you there. Bye now’ the newcomer said and ran away. Somehow Govinda was not at all alarmed but was happy.
He was not much surprised to find himself soon by the deathbed of his aunt. After her death he inherited her large estate. He appointed a trusted manager and set to schooling himself to be able to administer the estate. His village became a pleasant memory, unreachable because his own sense of duty to his estate didn’t give him time or reason to go there.
Then his twin appeared. ‘You’ll go back. Your village needs your knowledge and commitment. We’ll meet no more’ he said.
He was right.

Swami Sampurnananda
Genre273. Lalgarh Dining Table
16 Jan. 2004; 0.32 p.m

Silly Sam’s Doll Play

Silly Sam felt a glow of self-satisfaction. He felt so good. All is well with the world. He left the premises of the sanctuary he was willingly in, for a short walk in the evening sun watching the wandering river.

He was at the top of the world because he had managed to complete a piece of writing.

It was what he dubbed an epic poem. He had been exuberant on the last day of composition. He had written 330 lines instead of his usual 80 lines in frenzy. He had sat up long into the night. He himself suspected he had lost whatever littlie quality he’d managed so far, in this deluge. But that didn’t dim the glow of feel-goodness in him.

Now, Silly Sam, as his name proclaims, is silly. All his actions carry varying measures of stupidity. Let us see how silly he is now in his smug feel-goodness.

He had just completed 1511 lines of verse on his patron saint. Perhaps it is all shallow writing. He loves to read his writing but perhaps nobody else would touch it. Perhaps after his death, more termites will be enjoying his poems than people will have had.

Many silly wasted hours!

But he has dogged silly reasons, you bet.

For one, he had spent time thinking devout thoughts contemplating his patron saint.

Then he says he had enjoyed playing the dolly writing in his mind. Consider that child who played making a clay idol and staging a mock worship. He sure had companions, but would have enjoyed the game solo.

Blame it on a touch of silliness, I wish him well.

Swami Sampurnananda; 

Genre 273, 11 Jan. 2004; 9.30 p.m. Lalgarh dining table.

Three Laughing Children

Anup had got himself busy. He carried the bucket on his head. The man nearby thought that the kid was helping him to clean his shop but the kid was having fun. Anup had invented more than half a dozen interesting methods of carrying a bucket and more than a dozen funny ways to cover the twenty steps that it took to reach the shop from the water source. He ran carrying bucketfuls of water, laughing at jokes he saw within himself or without. Only he could see those funny faces that he spotted in the clouds above or in things around him.

Then his eyes fell on the toddy shop down below the road. He saw his father. He too was laughing. Everyone around him too were laughing. The kid looked at this scene wistfully.

Like the mother cow is conned into yielding milk by being presented with its stuffed up dead calf, the toddy seller brought out the phantom child in their customers and milked their purse strings.

Anup watched the scenes of laughter as well as their occasional brawls equally intrigued.

A hackney carriage appeared on the road. The Paramahamsa was in there. He too was laughing. As the carriage came near the toddy shop the man-child called out to the people there. It looked as if he wanted to dance with them. But some others held him.

Anup saw that smile. He ran behind the carriage.

‘Go back to your father’ the Paramahamsa said, ‘come afterwards’.

The smile lodged indelibly in Anup’s heart as the carriage disappeared into the horizon.

Does Anup’s way up lie a long way down?

Swami Sampurnananda,Genre 273,  
on Lalgarh bed, 22 Jan – 23 Jan 2003, 3.35 a.m.