Wings and Chirps

Wanderings of an Itchy Feet

Author: Rekha (Page 2 of 6)

A Whiff of Nostalgia

This morning I woke up to this beautiful blue sky decorated with cute patches of crispy white cotton wool. It felt like a drop of dew after months of drought. You ought to experience the worst to be able to appreciate the good. After experiencing infinite number of days of multiple layers of soot and unimaginable levels of air pollution, today looks good. A delightful, cheery and shiny morning with occasional eclipses as the bright orange ball of fire hides behind the visibly bigger cotton patches.

I woke up as usual and sipped my glass of hot water that the loving husband lovingly brought me. He then barged into the washroom for a quick bath before leaving for work. I thanked the inventor of mixer grinder as I ground the leftover saag from last night and kneaded it with the flour for the paranthas. Boiled a few potatoes and made the masaledaar stuffing too. The man who is a foodie and enjoys every bite was delighted. First star of the day, I dreamt.

Task number 2. Switched on all the lights and tried to wake up the girls singing ‘Darling aankhon se aankhein chaar karne do’ in my melodious voice as they curled once again into the cozy razaiis. Stop it, Mamma. 5 minutes more!” Couldn’t blame them but the strict mommy sprung into action and tickled them out of the bed and pushed them into their respective bathrooms. Fed them and packed them off to school with a “I’ll miss you.”

Dropped in at Mom’s place for exactly 7 minutes and rushed back home at the speed of light to escape the house-help’s wrath for making her wait for precisely 3 minutes.

Once she is home, I am like that witch on the broom who runs from here to there at super speed clearing up the mess that we jointly created throughout the previous day and the Mahabharata Yudhha that had taken place just that morning . I hate winters for the extra workload of folding the jumbo razaiis, the jackets, the sweaters, the blazers that have to be hung all around the house. Plus the number of times one has to turn the washed laundry to get it all dried.

I was folding the washed laundry when I rushed to the househelp who was cleaning the utensils. A whiff of air brought in an old yet unforgotten scent from yesteryear. That’s when the mind started playing this ad.

I was confused as to why me of all the people on earth. And why 555? This was one of the few things I disliked from what our generation had to bear with. Such sick colour, texture and odour.

Kiran, yeh 555 jaisi smell kahaan se aa rahi hai?” 

“Pata nahi Didi. Mujhe bhi lag raha hai.”

Actually this has been going on since past 3-4 days and today I studied the pattern. It was only happening every time Kiran was washing utensils. I made a few calculations in my mind and drew up a picture.

“Pakka! Bartan ki tray ke pass aaloo sadd raha hoga.”

“Par Didi aap to har do din mein tray saaf karati ho.”

“Kahin dish washing gel ki smell toh nahi?”

“Naa…pata nahi kya hai. Ho sakta hai bagal waale ghar se ho.”

This is when the detective in me caught the fumes coming out of the geyser plug point. It was melting. A bright and sunny morning with 200 ka fatka early in the morning. Glad that nothing major happened. Just thought of sharing so you check your plug points well in time.

While you’re off to check your connections. I’ll savour this parantha. Now you know the reason for my health…right??? 😀

Yellow-throated Marten

The yellow-throated marten (Martes flavigula) is an Asian species of marten. M. flavigula, sometimes also known as the kharza, is the largest marten in the Old World, with the tail making up more than half its length. Its fur is brightly colored, consisting of a unique blend of black, white, golden-yellow and brown. It is an omnivore, whose sources of food range from fruit and nectar to small deer. The yellow-throated marten is a fearless animal with few natural predators, because of its powerful build, its bright coloration and unpleasant odor. It shows little fear of humans or dogs, and is easily tamed. (Source: http://rfsarchitects.com/?p=212 Wikipedia)

Picture clicked in October 2017 at Malla Ramgarh, Nainital, Uttarakhand, INDIA.

Incy Wincy Spider

http://adbands.com/productos?id=28 “The spider’s web: She finds an innocuous corner in which to spin her web. The longer the web takes, the more fabulous its construction. She has no need to chase. She sits quietly, her patience a consummate force; she waits for her prey to come to her on their own, and then she ensnares them, injects them with venom, rendering them unable to escape. Spiders – so needed and yet so misunderstood.”

buy modafinil in the us ~ Donna Lynn Hope

Picture clicked in October 2017 on our way to Chithai, Almora from Nathuakhan in Uttarkhand, INDIA.

#MythicalMondays – Brahmarakshassu

Continued from  #MythicalMondays – Mythology and Me.

I was sitting on the windowsill of the living room. Ammamma asked me to get down from there and sit next to her. I was not very close to Ammamma because I have hardly spent much time with her. She was always and always bed-ridden and on medication all the time. We could rarely see her in upright position. I hesitated but my curiosity got over me and made me get down the windowsill. I sat on the floor next to Ammamma’s chair.

Ammamma heaved a sigh of relief. And then she began.

Brahmarakshassu

Brahmarakshassu is the wandering spirit of a Namboothiri or Brahmin (a scholar of high birth) who was engaged in evil activities in his/her life or have died an unnatural death. Brahmins were the ones who have received sacred learnings and their duty was to impart knowledge to good students. The ones who misused their knowledge for evil activities or the ones who have been mistreated in their life and died an unnatural death would turn into fierce demonic spirits after their death. They were called Brahmarakshassu. A Brahmin who is a Rakshasa, and has the characteristics of both a Brahmin and a Rakshasa. They would retain all their knowledge, remember memories of their past lives and are believed to have immense power. Thus they can only be defeated by very few learned scholars who can fight them, defeat them and give them salvation from this demonic form of life. Hindu texts mention that they eat human beings.

It was dark outside and a chill ran down my spine. I somehow managed to ask Ammamma,

Is the Brahmarakshassu resident here in our Sarpa Kavu, a man or a woman?

Ammamma then told me a story about the Mana/Illam that was situated there on our land many decades ago. She mentioned that there was this Thirumeni whose daughter was extremely beautiful and was of marriageable age. She was also highly knowledgeable. After interviewing many Namboothiris, her parents found a suitable groom for her. The marriage date was fixed.

There was a karyasthan (manager) who worked for the family in managing their day-to-day business. He had an evil eye on this girl. One night she felt the sudden urge to relieve herself. Those were the times that toilets were not constructed within the main house. They were constructed far away from the house in the backyard. So she went out with her thozhi (a house help who is also a close confidante) with an enna villakku (oil lamp). As she came out she was abducted and assaulted by the karyasthan. Apparently her thozhi had cheated her on the demands of the karyasthan. 

The Namboothiri girl was furious and heart-broken. The next morning, her parents and brothers also blamed her beating her black and blue. She was asked to leave the house immediately and the family performed her last rites as if she had died for them. It’s called Padi adachu pindam vakkukka in my native language Malayalam which is a custom performed when someone is considered dead for the family. Karyasthan and thozhi were ordered to leave her till the outskirts of the village. After travelling some distance from the Mana she arranged for a fire and jumped within. As the fire engulfed her, she cursed the thozhi and the karyasthan who later died of leprosy. She also cursed her own family that no more girls will be born in the family ever. Thus the end of that Namboothiri family.

This part of Kerala that I belong to, Palakkad, was following Marummakkathayam, a system of matrilineal inheritance. Descent and the inheritance of property was traced through females. It was followed by all Nair castes including of Royal Families, some of the Ambalavasis (priests and other people associated with temple), Mappilas (Muslims), and some tribal groups. This was one of the few traditional systems which gave women liberty and right to property.

Ammamma said that it is believed that it was this girl’s spirit that was residing in the Sarpa Kavu and was being worshipped by our family since ages to avoid any mishappenings.

I was young. I was scared. I had nobody with whom I could have confided the fact that I had entered the Sarpa Kavu not just once but many times. I feared that I would also be abandoned like that girl who did nothing wrong. I have spent numerous sleepless nights talking to the Brahmarakshassu and seeking forgiveness for the many times I had tress-passed into her territory. I was sure she’ll eat me up soon.

May and June were the months when the harvest season was just over and haystacks were laid all over the courtyard for sale and for our own use for the cattle. One night, the plantain leaves were moving from behind a haystack due to strong breeze. I woke up in the middle of the night and started shivering and sweating thinking that it was the Brahmarakshassu dancing with anger. I would fear for my life yet I didn’t have the courage to tell Amma or my grandparents about my fears. I wrote about it to Acha twice or thrice and then tore it off. I was so sure that I would be punished and abandoned.

Stories from our childhood get so engraved in our memories and have a great influence in shaping our personalities and the incidents that happen later on in our lives. After this episode till the day I was able to hold the firstborn in my arms and cuddle her tight, I had always and always blamed myself for everything that went wrong in our lives and for entering the Sarpa Kavu out of curiosity. Looking back, I understand that this was how the curiosity in children was killed right as it germinated.

Stay tuned for my next post on the other residents of the Sarpa Kavu right here next Monday. Hope you are enjoying this series as much as I am loving sharing the stories that might otherwise die a silent death.

Recommended Reading

#MythicalMondays – Mythology and Me

I grew up in an era when mobile phones, Internet, Wi-Fi and Uncle Google were unheard of. Uncle Google and not Google Baba because ‘Baba’ is no more cool. Doordarshan’s DD National was the only television channel accessible on the Weston television with the unusually pregnant picture tube and the wooden shuttered doors. Well-researched books written by learned scholars were our primary source of information.  And since we did not have many distractions, our attention spans were long, our minds were sharper and our sensibilities were still alive.

But then I grew up in a house were everything was either sacred or taboo. We were kind of used to volcanic eruptions and the tectonic movements of the mood plates of our fathers, mothers and other elders of the house and neighbourhood. It was in class eighth that my best friend gifted me a copy of ‘Love Story‘ by Erich Segal. The moment I showed it excitedly to Amma, hell broke loose. And I couldn’t read the book till I graduated from college. Our family friends took us to the cinema theatre for the movie Hum Aapke Hain Kaun. One of my friends was crazy about Madhuri Dixit and the other one was mad after Salman Khan. But I did not enjoy the movie much because the moral police was sitting right next to me and tightening their grip on my wrist every time Salman and Madhuri acted cheeky. Imagine what would have happened when we first witnessed a French Kiss in this environment.

Cable television was a no-no at our place till Acha (Dad) ended his vanavasa and returned to India in July 1995. I appeared in my twelfth class boards while Acha jumped up and down at every four, six and wicket taken during the Cricket World Cup of 1996. Trust me, I learnt all about cricket much more ambitiously than Reproduction, Genetics and Evolution, Ecology, Trigonometry, Integral Calculus, Differential Equations, Matrices, Electricity, Magnetism or Optics.

In short, we would read gyaan-vardhak books like Knowledge Bank, Reader’s Digest, Champak, Chacha Chaudhary and Saboo, Tinkle, Pinki etc. And watch TV series like Surabhi, Bharat Ek Khoj, Bournvita Quiz Contest with Derek O’Brien, Quiz Time with Siddharth Basu, Oshin, Hum Paanch, Yeh jo hai zindagi, Hum Log and the likes. I so wanted to be like Renuka Shahane of Surabhi fame. Her ever smiling face and that Namaskaar, her confidence, her enthusiasm and passion with which she performed. Class apart. And her sarees!! I adored her sarees even in that B/W television.

It was during our summer vacations that I had hardly anything to do other than write my journal entries, roam around the compound of the house, read Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha or help everyone with household chores or preparations for one or the other poojas. My favourite outing place was the Sarpa Kavu (abode of the snakes).

To read the story about the Sarpa Kaavu’s influence on my life, click on the image or the link below.

Since I grew up in an environment where only deities, poojas and personal and mythological stories were shared, slowly but surely I started having a love affair with mythology. My mind was full of questions but I wasn’t supposed to ask. Who questions Gods, culture and tradition? Not good girls from reputed families. They were only supposed to listen and obey. But then I was not the one that could have been tied for long.

Most of my free time was spent gazing at the Sarpa Kavu or the Thozhuthu (cattle shed) where Sundari Pashu stayed. Either from the terrace or from Sachumama’s bedroom window or sitting at the Ammikallu (grindstone) in the Pinnanburam (backyard). I could see a few stone idols placed on a small elevated platform, all made of black stone. Some of them definitely looked like snakes. But there was another one that I couldn’t make out. It looked like a human body. There was a two-feet boundary wall to this enclosure which nobody was supposed to cross except the Namboothiri on the pooja day. I have seen Ammamma running towards the back door and screaming at the new house help as she was about to empty the sauce pan into the Sarpa Kavu after brooming the front yard and the back yard. I almost thought she was going to be killed for this unintentional sin.

You can read my adventures with Sundari Pashu here on Withered Dreams Revisited.

Forbidden Fruit is Sweetest.

One afternoon, while everyone else in the house was enjoying their siesta, a little girl ventured out stealthily through the back door from the kitchen. Right next to it was this Sarpa Kavu. Yes. I have entered the Sarpa Kavu many a times till I actually saw a King Cobra with his hood spread wide. I still remember how I ran from there as it hissed. That was the last time I ever ventured out alone even within the compound of the house.

Once Ammamma and I were alone in the house for a day. I think I was about fourteen or fifteen at that time. I gathered courage and asked her why we were not supposed to enter the Sarpa Kavu. I think she was also tired of shutting me up again and again and finally bothered to tell me this.

This house of ours was built on a land where there was a famous Mana (house of Namboothiris or priests). The astrologer had informed our ancestors that the place was occupied by a Brahmarakshassu and Sarpangal (snakes) and we were supposed to regularly pray to them and please them by performing monthly poojas on Ayilyam nakshathram (one of the twenty seven lunar mansions or constellations).

But who are Brahmarakshassu and Sarpangal?

Stay tuned to my post on Brahmarakshassu and Sarpangal under the #MythicalMondays series on next Monday.

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