by Sridhar Thiagarajan
[box]Sridhar Thiagarajan on the walk he took from a village to see one Mr. Vanchi, the sights that met his eyes, the little things that he did.. Walk along and meet Mr. Vanchi.[/box]The din and drum of the night ended around 11.30 pm, with everybody slipping into sleep. The whole house quietened down, with the only noise coming from the croaking frogs and the occasional cricket kicking up a racket in the background. The night was over before you realized, and all of a sudden it was day break. The humdrum started again, with the scuffing of feet as people slowly began their walk half awake and half asleep, hairs mangled – all of these a harbinger of the effort to orient themselves for the day which lay ahead.
The village house, big as it was, provides pockets of absolute solitude, especially towards the rear end. Sitting there taking in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting in from inside, the call of the milk man, watching the sun’s efforts to slowly penetrate the mist from the rain the previous night, listening to the cycle bells tingling from the road adjoining the house, I was putting off getting ready for the day. Black clouds were still hanging around, not sure whether to disperse and make way for the all powerful sun or try their hand at being more defiant. As this aerial debate continued, I had made up my mind to take a long walk and meet Mr. Vanchi. I had never met him before but had just heard of him and the place he lived. All these left me with a burning curiosity to just meet the guy at least once. Well, if you want to know who Vanchi is, then walk with me.
I was told that he lived just about three kilometers away from the village. I pulled on my pants and was about to step out, when somebody called out from deep inside the house: “Take an umbrella, it may rain.” Sensible advice, I thought, as there was no place to seek shelter in that long, winding road. So armed with an old umbrella that had seen all sorts of weather for sure, I started off on my solitary walk to meet Mr. Vanchi.
It was the time of the harvest festival and every village generally wears a festive look at this time of the year. I did not see anything worth celebrating about, because the recent rains and floods had damaged the crops. The floods had receded about a month ago, yet the impact was still visible. As I moved out of the village on the road that resembled a thin black ribbon surrounded by grey above and a mix of green and brown on the sides highlighting the dead and live plants, the vastness of the moment overwhelmed me. Streams of water, swaying plants, chirping birds and slow insects – life, in different forms at different speeds at various levels, were fighting it out.
Humming to myself, watching the contrasts in colors and light, listening to the sounds, and being observant to the sights that lay around, I continued. Then came the distant hum of a moped, beginning as a lowly whirr, letting you know of its presence; you would never get to see it for at least a full three or four minutes, reminding you of physics you’d studied about long ago (ha….it’s the Doppler effect!)
A variety of sights greeted me. Cows, washed clean unlike their city cousins, and the calves eagerly feeding, jumping up and down, running all over making it difficult for the handlers. Goats of various sizes and colors, bleating, running, dropping their excreta all over the narrow black road in total freedom and bliss. What was equally surprising and shameful was that humans were also in the race for this. Here and there on the sides of the road, you could see the mounds of human faeces, but given the open area it fortunately didn’t stink, but it was a repulsive sight, and a blemish on the otherwise beautiful face of nature. Shades of green, as you can never see in any human creation, were on display – leaves fully covered with dew, glistening like pearls, the earthworms and snails crawling across the road, as fast as they could to escape stamping feet or rolling wheels.
I saw a pretty long earthworm at least about 6 inches trying to wriggle its way out to the sides from the middle of the road. An approaching cycle was sure to go over it. Trying my best with a small twig to push it to a side, I realized how clumsy I was when having to deal with such a tender situation. On the other hand, the grip the earthworm had on the surface of the road – given its size – was phenomenal.
Finally, I had to use my fingers, and that was even worse; I just couldn’t pick it up. This ordeal took me a few minutes and finally with a smaller, sharper twig, I gave one push and the little fellow went over to the side landing on a bed of grass. Getting up was difficult for me after that, as my knees ached. I finally managed to continue to walk with the same speed.
This act probably pleased the heavens above, for it started to pour. Small puddles appeared out of nowhere, and I could feel the slush on my clothes and even on my hands. My slippers were efficiently coating me with muck as they flapped about with each step. I continued on my walk, while curious onlookers discussed amongst themselves about this new face in the village. I had no idea of how far Vanchi stayed from where I was but I couldn’t care less at that moment – I was enjoying the sights and sounds around. The kind of plumage I got to see that morning was fantastic – it was as though somebody had painted them to strike out against the background of green and brown. I caught sight of blue wood peckers, a bird with a brown back and white wings, the common crow, the common myna, parrot, and another one of yellow in the mid back and black wings, and an occasional eagle, which flew low into the fields searching for a scurrying mouse or snake or food in any form.
By now the downpour was getting heavier, and my pants were wet up to my knees and covered with slush, but I walked on, occasionally singing at the top of my voice. Then, all of a sudden, I saw cycles loaded with meat in small plastic bags. The village folks were happy and enthused with anticipation about their day and the meal. The day after the harvest is something they enjoy by eating meat. That was the day I saw goats being skinned and meat cut and sold like hot cakes. It was surprising that so much meat would be consumed in a village where people were supposed to be living a hand-to-mouth existence, but that day things were different, they all thrived. It was sad to see the animals being cut and skinned, but that was life. After about 45 minutes of walking, I asked a passer-by about where Mr. Vanchi stayed.
“He just stays down the dip in the road, take a right and you can find him”.
Encouraged by the news, I walked on for another ten minutes, and finally found Vanchi’s place. I passed through a huge compound, an imposing structure and as soon as I stepped in, a beautiful setting met my eyes. There was a lovely pond, with enough water, supposed to be holy.
As I entered, to the left, sat Mr. Yama – I’m not joking, it was the God of Death himself (here you need to worship him first and then go in to meet Mr. Vanchi), and deep inside sat Vanchi, alias Vanchinatheeswarar, commonly known as Siva, along with his consort, Mangalambikai. It was a fantastic temple, quiet, with no crowds, small oil lamps, bats squeaking occasionally, the smell of their droppings pervading all over the temple. After about ten minutes, I began the journey back. I didn’t sit and pray and ask for anything – I trusted Vanchi to live up to his reputation of being omniscient. Simply being there for that short time, enjoying the silence and solitude, left an indelible impression. By now the sun was up, and it was getting pretty warm and sultry. The dew drops on the leaves were now shining even brighter. A few village lassies, probably in their early adolescence, with nothing artistic about them and no artificiality in their gait or speech, blushed as they walked past me for the simple reason that I was pretty tall compared to the locals. Smiling to myself, the umbrella lying across my shoulders, happy to get wet in the drizzle and not caring about the slush that had messed up my clothes, I realized I had thoroughly enjoyed my morning trip to meet Mr. Vanchi that day.
I hope to see him again some time, but for sure, the landscape is not going to be the same again.
Author’s note: This place of Vanchi is called Srivanchiam and is near Semmangudi, which is about 20 kilometres from Kumbakonam in Tamil Nadu. It is supposed to be holier than the temple of Kasi.
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