Traditionally Shackled

Hello All,

I have been quite hooked up for sometime now. Hence apologies for being late with my blogs.
India is a country rich with traditions. Our traditions root back to days before technology advancement. They guide us to take appropriate decisions for any situation in the society. Lately, we notice the society has been making over. But have the traditions been changing accordingly? Do they still happen to guide us to take a right conclusion or they have remained a burden further ahead? Here, I am presenting an imaginary story for you based solely on our traditions. I mean not to provoke any religion or culture of Indians. Read on ...

I don’t know what have I done to face this. I have never done any mistakes till date and have followed all the customs sincerely, yet have never got my share of happiness in life. But this time I am not backing off, because I believe I don’t deserve this.  It all dates to my childhood or may be before that. So I will start from my childhood, or the memory that I remember.

I belong to a small village called Ratipur situated in Bharath (India was earlier Bharath). My village was named after my Great Grandmother, Rati. So, one can imagine I have been born with a silver spoon in mouth. My birth was lavish since I was born as first child for my family. My father, the then Landlord of the village had feasted every of his laborer for the same. By the time I completed a year or two of being born, I had a bodyguard, 6-7 best friends, few caretakers and lot more admirers. But I was least aware of the quake likely to occur in my life. I was happily living until one day an old man arrives at our doorstep. He was draped in orange dhothi in bottom and orange shall on top. He had beard all over his face which covered his grim when he saw me, playing in the yard outside. Least was I aware of how he would turn my life upside down. Also I wasn’t aware of what he told my parent, because that moment my mom ran to me, held me tight and bust to tears. I could feel a negative vibe and strong hatred for the man. So I also started to cry with my mom. Though the man had left after few minutes, my house had already turned havoc by then. Almost every day I would hear my dad and mom having loud arguments of a point, which ended with my mom’s tears. I didn’t understand the situation, but I knew my mom would somehow do justice to me. As if reading my thoughts, my mom came to me and convinced me thus – “You are my lovable child. And you are grown up now. So we must send you away. You love us no? You love this place no? So you must live with that uncle who had come the other day wearing orange dress like him.” All that I understood was that the orange dress man won, that my mom didn’t do justice to me and that my dad was sending me away, far away.

Some function was organized and in the end I was draped orange dress like that man and bid off with him. I was told that I could never again return to my home. Never again see my parents. I was told not to talk with my friends or desire about my things back in home. I walked with the old man, careful not to speak with him so as let him know him know that am angry on him. It was dark by the time we reached my destination, Aashram as it was called. I had memorized the way back to my home already and knew perfectly where to go in case the old man troubles me. The moment we entered Aashram another man hurried to me and took me to a room where he put me off to sleep. Next morning I was made to get up even before it was morning. I gaped at the number of people in Aashram; all were not only awake but busily doing some work. A man of my father’s age approached to me from right, held my hand and said, “Come lets go to bath together.” As we started, some more of the disciples joined us in front and I saw the leader was the same old man. I somewhat felt comfortable with the fatherly figure next to me. So I asked him pointing to the old man, “Bapu Who is he?” (Referring him with the Indian term for father). The man looked straight ahead and said, “I am not your Bapu. I am Swamy Daya. The man you are pointing to is Guruji.” My curiosity increased and I began to ask more questions with him. He gave the answers correcting me whenever I was wrong. Thus my life I Aashram began. I started to follow all the rituals, rightly learning and memorizing the slokas (hymns) and Vedas, and trying not to do any mischief as guided my Swamy Daya (I still referred to him as Bapu, but he asked me not to say so when all are around). All the while, I still remember the way back to home. I visit home during some night and see my mom silently sobbing in front of the stove. My mom loved me so much that she never gave birth to any child after me.

Few Years passed and I was the most favorite of most of all in the Aashram, including Guruji himself. Nobody ever knew my secret of visiting my home visiting yet. My mom now had another child to look after and I still look in the window wondering if she misses me even now. One night, when I had done with peeking onto my mom and was returning back to Aashram, I saw her. Her beauty was eternal and she was dazzling in the moonlight. She was rushing in the opposite direction, seemingly was rushing from Aashram back to the village. We both had the feeling of getting caught up; hence we did not approach each other. Next morning, when I woke it suddenly hit me. There aren’t any gals in Aashram, so what was she doing in Aashram late in night? I gazed for suitable person to enquire about it and finally decided to ask with Bapu. I knew the moment of truth is here, because I would have to tell about me visiting the house also.

I mustered my courage and asked Bapu about the girl going out of Aashram. Though eyes clearly showed the shock, he hid the emotion. Then he asked me how did I see her since that was the meditation time for all in Aashram. I told him about my frequent visit and for once Bapu seemed very angry on me. He took me straight to Guruji and the matter was not only disclosed to all in Aashram, but was open for investigation. All from the village including my parents were summoned. With the gigantic crowd upfront, I was confused about what is happening. I also noticed the girl was sitting next to her mother and looking towards Bapu. As the investigation began, I was astounded to be revealed of the unknown facts of my life. Our village had the tradition of sending the first born of the generation in the family to live the life of a hermit, just like me. I did not understand when and how this tradition started, but the Guruji here happened to be my Grandfather. I also realized that Bapu was none other than my father’s elder brother and the girl was his daughter. (Since his first-born was a daughter, he chooses to quit everything and live the life as hermit). I was shaken by the fact that every one in Aashram belonged to any one family in the village. And that most of them have started to live this kind of life even before they started to talk properly at around the age of 2 or 3, which meant they did not have choice or voice. I stood there on the door of the tradition, which I did not want but which I learnt for so long. I was perplexed about the fact that I have been made to be staying away from my mom in the name of tradition. I wasn’t sure whether I still wanted to believe something that was done in different age and still blindly followed or continue with my usual life like it is me destination. Once again the quake of my life happened to be the age-old traditions…


Please Take Care :-)
Keep smiling :-)
With Loads of Love,
Maddy.