Param

By Samarpananda

Living a life that straddles the virtual and the real, enmeshed in technology and inspired by it, Param is a young man in the city. In his world, the virtual is as real as reality itself. But when a friend asks Param what he would do if he had just seven days to live, he answers, 'I would go to the Himalayas.' Intrigued by his own response, Param sets out on a journey to the Himalayas, the land of his ancestors. En route, he makes an unscheduled stop at a village - one that would change his life. The village turns out to be a place of adventure, and home to a number of compelling characters, from the wise Suyash the Cobbler to the cheeky young boys Chilli and Polta, the kind farmer Kisanji and the endearing dog Poppy. Param discovers the joys of a simpler way of life. But can he resist the pull of his home world? Thought-provoking and heart-warming, Param is a fable about the many worlds we dwell in and the many masks we wear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Element
• Release date: Dec 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9789350295496

Samarpananda

Samarpan is a monk in a reputed monastic organization in India. Born in 1960, he took his vows when he was twenty, and since then has been associated with varied organizational work, mostly educational. He was the principal of a well-known residential school and has been associated with medical, rural and relief services. Presently he teaches Indian scriptures at the university of his organization.

Book preview

The Wheels

‘Nuts, nuts!’ A peanut vendor, moving with a sense of eternity on his calm face, approached Param, who had been travelling through the heartland of India for nearly a day.

‘Yes, I am nuts,’ Param sighed.

Param had been lost in his thoughts the previous night, and had gone to sleep quite late. When he woke up in the morning he found that most of the passengers were gone, and with them all his luggage—computer, mobile, everything.

His frustration made him angry with himself, the world and the railways. ‘Why can’t these jokers take care of their guests?’

In sheer anger, he had even gone up to the coach door to get off at the next station and go back home, but he steadied himself and decided to go ahead with his travel plans.

‘Yes, I am nuts,’ he said with finality and looked at the vendor who stood in the aisle with a gentle smile.

The badge on the vendor’s shirt indicated that he was Tolaram, a peanut vendor. Unlike his less fortunate city brothers tied to the wheels of time, Tolaram enjoyed timelessness like royalty.

‘Nuts, sir!’

‘No.’

Param remembered his grandfather’s stories about the village grocer who cheated his customers in price and looted in weight. Yet this grocer had a permanent board fixed in his shop that read ‘Fixed Price’. So Param had grown up in favour of packaged products that had the price and weight printed on them. ‘Collective cheating is mere inflation, while individual cheating is cheating—something that must not be tolerated,’ his grandfather had taught him.

So Param said a firm ‘No’ to the open basket of Tolaram.

Unperturbed, Tolaram sat down in the aisle, and instead of selling nuts he offered words:

‘How amazing these trains are!’ the vendor began. ‘As a train it is one, but in its physical manifestation, it takes up many names and forms—goods, suburban, passenger, express, bullet and luxury. And sir, isn’t it amazing that a train is static and dynamic simultaneously, since it is here and also there at the same time? You are a learned person, sir, you must be knowing all this.’

Param did not know all that, and did not care to know. But he stayed silent in front of this garrulity. This encouraged Tolaram, who began afresh, ‘Sir, many credit some firang with inventing railways. But I don’t agree. The train has existed even before this earth was born, and will continue to exist even after it dies. Do you know why? Because it is not just a physical thing; it is an idea. And ideas know no death.’

‘Tolaramji, did you rehearse this speech?’

Tolaram laughed. ‘I was trying to entertain you, sir. You looked a little lost, so I wanted to be of service. Running from the good to better, sir?’

‘From good to bad.’

‘Seems like that. You look hurt and angry. Fed up with the world, sir? Going to the Himalayas? Correct me if I am wrong. The world has suddenly woken up to the wonders of the Himalayas. Are you in search of wisdom, sir?’

Param looked at the vendor in admiration, but remained silent.

‘Sir, let me tell you something. If you are a learner, you can learn from anything; and if you are not a learner, then even Brihaspati, the guru of gods, cannot make you learn.’

This is India—the land that belches wisdom from an empty stomach. The prospect of an India with a full belly is frightening, thought Param.

Conversation, the cure of anguish, uplifted Param’s mood. He narrated his story and concluded, ‘I am not really in search of wisdom, but after listening to you, my interest in it is growing. And sir, why do you sell peanuts when you should be selling sermons? Many babajis will go out of circulation.’

If God was non-existent, how could his prophets fare any better with Param! He abhorred babajis. His first major encounter with a baba was when a famous monk, Bairagi Baba, was lecturing in The City. Param had attended his lecture with the reverence of a person for his heritage. The baba had talked about Brahman and Maya. ‘Brahman alone is true, all else is delusion—mere Maya. This must be shunned like dirt. Get out of the snares of power and pelf, and be free.’ The monk had thundered and roared at the illusory Maya like a political activist who uses decibels to cover up his dishonesty.

Param had asked, ‘Holy sir, if this world is Maya, why do so many monks have so much wealth?’ He expected a scathing attack by the baba on hypocrites. But Param did not know that the baba himself had thousands of crores hidden all over the world. He replied in a nasty voice, ‘We are detached from it.’

Param was not convinced. ‘Well, we too are detached from our earnings. We spend them on our parents, family and friends, and leave them entirely when we are dead. So why do we need to follow this philosophy?’

‘Young man, truth alone prevails, illusions get destroyed.’

This verbal duel continued for a while, generating much heat. Finally Param said, ‘From your words, Maya appears to be more interesting than God. So please allow us to enjoy it. That will give you ample opportunity to rid your own fraternity of delusion.’

The baba was angry, but his devotees were angrier. They forced Param out of the holy presence. That was the end of Param’s tryst with divinity.

Much later, Param came across another mahatma through the Internet. This man of God proclaimed, ‘To reach the truly conscious, you must be conscious that conscious is unconscious, and unconscious is conscious.’ That ended Param’s journey into consciousness. ‘If these lunatics had not found a place in a monastery, they would easily have found a resting place in an asylum,’ he concluded.

Idle curiosity had made Param visit various websites related to the saints and preachers of India before he started this journey. He had also found a few sites that discussed their scandals. He was surprised to see that there were so many of them in the country, and that their numbers were increasing. ‘I wonder who feeds this half per cent of the Indian male population! And they don’t seem to have improved much since my encounter with Bairagi Baba. Disgusting!’

Param was brought back to the present by the words of Tolaram. ‘It is all about karma, sir, all about karma. Karma has brought me to this state, and now I do not want to spoil my karma by being a victim of greed and fear.’

It took time for Param to connect with the topic.

Tolaram continued, ‘I sell peanuts in winter, and cucumbers in the summer. These are good for the customer’s body, and even better for my mind.’

‘Indifferent India! People won’t work even to get a full belly.’

‘You won’t agree with me, sir, but there is more to life than bread and water.’

‘Yes, there is. Butter. Ask anyone from The City, and you will know. Anyway, how and where did you learn so much?’

‘I keep my ears open, sir. People eat and talk; I sell and listen.’

‘Your wisdom is not a product of passengers’ talk,’ Param remarked curiously.

By now the train had reached a station. Tolaram picked up his wares and said with a smile, ‘Let us hope to meet again, sir. I look forward to it.’

A group of young men came walking down the aisle just then. Some of them started picking up nuts from his basket, others made stupid remarks. One of the men hinted that the vendor had been exploiting the gullibility of the city-bred Param.

Before Param knew what was happening, he felt a lightning strike of anger course through his body. Without a word, he got up from his seat and kicked the man who had just spoken. Both the vendor and the young men were startled at Param’s outburst. But after they had got over their surprise, the men charged at Param with ferocity.

‘That should teach you how to behave with the locals, you citywallah!’

With great difficulty, Tolaram persuaded them not to throw Param off the train.

Later, Param wondered how he could have hit strangers in an unknown place like that. Behind the suavity lies the savage. Scratch a little, and you get the fangs of the barbarian instead of the smile of the gentleman.

Indifferent to the clatter of the wheels and the chatter of people in the compartment, Param was deep in thought. The loss of his luggage, his physical outburst and consequent guilt made him feel low. Very low, in fact. He started pacing up and down the aisle aimlessly.

He was near the door when the train whistled loudly and groaned to a sudden halt. On an impulse, he leaned out of the door and saw that the train had stopped at the signal of a small station.

It was dusk.

A greenish darkness had morphed living and dead into one. He could make out the trees and shrubs, but could not distinguish between the creepers and the plants. The birds were a chorus within the mass of green.

The dusk, loneliness and a lack of purpose entered Param’s heart, where they jostled to push out expressions. Loose strands of melancholic poems and songs made a dash to escape his lips. He got down from the train and gave his surroundings a second