Makar Sankranti on the sand dunes of Kasai Ganga

A large number of people of all ages were gathered there on the sprawling sands. All able-bodied men and women were there. There was a medley of music in the air. Processions with women carrying images of Tusu were converging. Many people were making merry in the shallow waters. There was a boy jumping into knee-deep water. There was a girl swimming and bathing in the river without in any way compromising with her modesty. There were some older boys having a swimming race in these shallow waters. At one place, there were two friendly rival groups, singing with reference to Tusu but also contriving to taunt their opponents. There were two boys playing with their dog.

Amidst all these sights and sounds something caught my eyes. There was a light playing about on the surface of the waters. I saw the same light on the faces of the people gathered, including the drunkard who was dancing between the rival groups. Then I caught the source of that light. It was a little girl flitting about amidst all these people with lightning speed. She smiled at me as I caught her eye.

‘I’m Kasai, a daughter of Bharati’ she said.

‘You’re wonderful’ I exclaimed.

‘You’ll see more wonders. You’ll meet my sisters too’ she said.

Soon there were shouts of sisters calling each other’s names. The names Ganga, Kaveri, Bihu, Narmada, etc. could be heard. But I could discern a note of sadness. There was excitement as Bharati appeared, ‘Your children will soon come to senses, those callous money worshipers too. You’ll all be reinvigorated’ she said.

Let’s not pollute our life springs.

Swami Sampurnananda

Genre 273, No. 36, Kuthia veranda, 
15 Jan 2004, 3.47 p.m.

Two Seven Three Not Out - A Tribute to V.V.S. Laxman

One.. two.. three.. the score-board changed steadily. V.V.S. Laxman was batting.

India was one down in the series and the second test was in progress. The mighty Australia had enforced the follow-on. India was again in a bad shape in their second innings when Laxman came in and Dravid joined him.

Apu had had to be carried to the stadium. He knew this will be the last time he will be out of his home. Cricket was his greatest love. He had himself scored 273 not out once and had won an important tournament for his school.

But his world turned topsy-turvy, one, what looked like, a fine morning. It was all a rush of events. Food poisoning – sudden hospitalization – rapid blood transfusion – and an unkind, under the belt strike, - AIDS infected blood. His mind broke down before his body.

His friends, to cheer him up brought him to the Eden Garden. India’s hopeless position convinced him that he will soon yield to the HIV.

But as he looked at Laxman and Dravid something in them perked him up.

Will the impossible happen ? Will India win? If so he will also win. That was sure. His mind said that if Laxman reaches 273 for him, then he also could hope. Hours passed steadily. There was a grim battle in the middle. A parallel battle over HIV in his body. Suddenly Apu jumped into the ground, all his strength regained. Neither Laxman nor the crowd could understand this passionate hug. If there had been a Pope of cricket, Laxman would have qualified to be ‘Blessed’

The giant score-board read, not out 273.

Swami Sampurnananda, 22 October 2003.

Karl Marx’s Ghost

Karl Marx’s ghost wailed at the feet of Kashi Vishwanatha Mahadev,

‘Has the time not yet come to take birth in Kashi and study the Vedas?

I’ve been thirstily wandering for years now’ it pleaded.

Shiva just said, ‘You’ll have to rattle more’.

‘Why take on me alone? You’ve graciously liberated other ghosts’ asked Marx.

‘You are a notorious ghost. There are others of your kind. Do you want names?’ asked Shiva.

‘No, I’ve had enough of my own affairs. See, how hard I rattled as skeletons piled up in Russia. Then Gorbochev woke up and prevented a messy end. He even prepared a comfortable tomb for himself. He was surely wiser than poor Czar.

I tried the same in China. Then Deng came and changed the name of yellow to red and buried red. Cuba doesn’t bother me. Cubans are just humouring their beloved Fidel in his old age. Vietnamese too have their own little Dengs. The Koreans will take care of themselves. But these Bengalees, oh!…. Marx’s ghost paused as it gathered breath for strength, ‘these Bengalis have neither the fierceness of the Russians, all their snapping are at the deliberate red herrings placed in their path by the bloodiest shark into whose mouth they are entering, nor do they have the wisdom of the Chinese, their intellects busy with slicing up the entrails of these mutilated herrings. I’m up against it. Thy limitless grace is my only shelter’ prayed Marx’s ghost.

Shiva of terrible deeds but of deep compassion, just smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, keep rattling’.

He closed his eyes as Marx’s ghost prepared itself for another mighty rattle.

Swami Sampurnananda, Genre 273, No. 45, Lalgarh Kuthia, 21 Feb. 2004, 9. 15 p.m.

The Call of the River

Time Zone One:

He had been told that he had attained all knowledge that day. He saw a thick volume on his father’s table. ‘I can now read like you’ he said to his father and demanded that the book be handed over to him. When he had the book in his hand, he opened a well worn-out page and started to read, ‘Tee O Bee Yee O Arr Enn O Tee Tee O Bee Yee’. His father left him standing on the top of the table reading away at the top of his voice. The kid was pleased as he glowed with omniscience with the Complete Works of William Shakespeare in hand.

Time Zone Two :

The Mission Control was in a state of excitement. All eyes were on the huge television monitor. ‘This one small step is the mightiest leap for the humankind and we’ve done it. We’ve broken the last frontier’ said a woman, as she appeared to be just strolling in casual clothes. She was the first human to reach another galaxy and she was wearing transparent, latest model cosmowear.

Time Zone Three:

They were just eating what it takes, for the body. They took their bath in the river and walked by its banks. They sat long hours closing their eyes. As years went on, their facial creases disappeared. Then their faces began to flower. Soon petals dropped and fruit began to appear. They could just say ‘Ha Ooo Ha’ before the fruits burst and fell into the river.

All times:

The eternal charged river keeps beckoning the bored, tired or soon to be so, scholars and astronauts.

Swami Sampurnananda, Genre 273, No. 44, Lalgarh Kuthia, 21 Feb 2004, 7.16 p.m.

God Makers

Six-year-old Bhagya said pointing to five-year-old Animesh, ‘he can make a clay-god’.

Animesh immediately looked at me, his eyes shining with joyful eagerness, ‘I will make a god’. I was intrigued. I acceded to his request.

He ran to the pond, collected some wet clay and set to work. In about  fifteen minutes, the head of thee god was ready. It had stones set strategically forming eyes, nose and ears. Then he declared, ‘my god is ready’. I asked, ‘where are the neck and the body?’.  ‘My god doesn’t have a neck. She is all head’ he said. I understood that his clay-modeling skill stopped at heads. ‘What will you do with your god?’ I asked. ‘We will worship’ he said. Soon he and a few younger girls were busy collecting flowers. Within a few minutes, the flowers were arranged in a pattern around the god. Then all the kids burst into songs. They knew only a few lines but sang them repeatedly and boisterously. ‘What now?’ I asked. ‘We will immerse the god’ Animesh said. He took the god on his head and the kids followed in a procession. ‘Victory to our mother!’ they shouted, ‘come again next year’, ‘kemon kore? jam jamiye!’, ‘how will you come? With overflowing joy’. The shouts filled the village air. The god was back in the pond. The kids’ faces were all shining. The other kids, who were big bullies and had degenerated into playing with coloured papers, looked scornfully at them. They called their own papers as currencies and the other kids’ currencies as idols. But they wore long faces.

The sun shone down serenely

Swami Sampurnananda
13 Jan 2004; 9.20 p.m.
Ramakrishna Math Swargashrama, Lalgarh
(An Ashrama under Belur Math since 1940s, where many great monks of the Ramakrishna Mission had stayed and served the people in their own humble way)

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Sri Ramakrishna chats

‘Hello Sampurnananda’ the chat box said. The sender’s name read Thakur Ramakrishna Paramahamsa.
‘ASL please’ I typed.
‘What??? Alright, 170 M Ramakrishna Loka’
I sat up with a start.
‘Who are you really, a machine or a joker?’ I asked
‘Hello, look up my name. It is the one courtesy of which you are wearing your unworthy gerua’ the chat box said.
`Do you really like putting your prefix and suffix along with your name?’ I asked.
`Here I am showing up and chatting with you, and you have nothing else to ask?’ Thakur said.
‘I just asked off the cuff. I hope to ask better questions in future’ I typed.
‘You are very tricky. You want me to commit to chatting with you again’ Thakur said.
‘What? Are you cutting away from me after just one chat? I would like to write a lot of 273s out of you.’
‘What???? Here I am in communion with you and all you want is a silly story?’
`I thought this will please you better than asking for a dispensary where doctors gets to meet patients frequently or a hostel or school in Ramakrishna Loka lines instead of your earlier Goloka types’ I typed.
`I am fond of my earlier version. I sometimes miss my Pals. I thought I found one in you’ Thakur typed with a special smiley (expressing complaint) next to the text, which didn’t show up offline.
‘I am indeed your Pal. I do have some type of dung in my head. Is that why you chose to chat with me tonight?’ I queried.
‘Tell you later’ the box flashed and faded.


Swami Sampurnananda
8 April 2006

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