“Is your Papa in a picture only ..Nana?” The innocent question just halted me in my
tracks. I had just shown my fathers’ picture portrait on the wall to my
grandson Shaurya and told him that he was my father. Shaurya my grandson, had unwittingly, unknowingly
asked me a question, which if I had answered honestly would have left him
unsatisfied. For if I had said yes, he would have disbelieved me, for no one,
and particularly Papas should live only in pictures ! Then I would have had to
tell him that “well..you see Shaurya ..he is no more with us ..he is with the
Angels “ and he would have known that still I have not given him a truthful
answer. How would I ever want this wonderful child of God to worry about life and death at this tender
age ?? To my great relief he had already challenged me to a “Galaxy Explorer”
game on the net ! I had quickly grabbed
the opportunity.
And yet, it was as if all that had happened only yesterday. I could
still see the pyre burning at first slowly, then a little harder and finally
with such ferocity and brightness that at one moment I could see the bones of
the feet and the fingers of my father in the pyre clearly silhouetted against
the yellow and orange flames that had overtaken the pyre and the frail body
wrapped inside it, that was my father, our beloved ‘Chacha ji’ to most who knew
him. Soon the bones just broke off and
fell...The whole process had taken not more than 2 -3 hrs and now the blazing
pyre had petered out all its fury spent as if signalling that all that was
humanly visible was about to end. Very soon only ashes and smouldering embers
were left. I could see a couple of other bodies lying in their yellow and white
shrouds, tied to the flimsy bamboo beds with their near and dear ones huddled
over them, waiting for the space ....
And very soon, suddenly, a group of workers came from
nowhere and with the help of a coconut tree large leaf broom and just pushed
the entire burnt out remains of the pyre, my fathers’ earthly form reduced to
ashes, out over the ‘Chabootara’ into the holy river Ganges that flowed
beneath. I was left open mouthed, is this all that there is ? Is this how my
father should end ?Is this how all of us will end ? Isn’t there something
missing... I mean should we not have done something before we all came to such
a pass? It was too late however, and my fathers ashes were already flowing
along with the genteel waves of the holy river. Even if I wanted to gather him
all once again, it would not be possible. He had already embarked on his grand
journey to mingle with the holy spirits and we were not allowed to go anywhere
near the holy path way , at least not beyond the burning ghats ...for the
moment.
The professor sahib who had been relating his experiences
with m y father while the pyre burned had also tired and wiping his moist eyes
and face, overcome by emotions, he put his hands around my shoulders and said, ‘all
of us are blessed to have known your father and you must not despair , now that
he is no more. His life itself is a huge reference book for you and all of us
to carry on our good lives.’ With some Sanskrit couplet, he bade us goodbye.
We, my brother, my couple of nephews and some neighbours and well wisher
friends who had stayed on with us slowly made our way back to our home at
Ishwargangi, Varanasi. Very soon we were mingling with the crowds on the
streets of Varanasi, all of us sad, in anonymity, lost in our own thoughts.
We reached the darkened streets or ‘gullies’ , as they
are known in Varanasi, of our old family house where the rest of the members of
the family were inconsolably in distress. The night somehow, slowly, sadly, passed
over us, while we all lay awake.
More than 32 years have gone by and still remember my father as will every person
who has loved and lost his father, and will be challenged by the thought that
‘if’ only ...’ ‘if only...he or she had done this or that’ or if only a few more years were there to go
still....
I am comforted by the thought that there are perhaps many
thousands in this world who are going thru this pain and I am not alone in this
predicament.
I hope that the younger generation, our hope of the future,
not only successfully negotiate their current challenges, but somewhere in
their warm hearts they remember their parents with love and reverence. So that
when they are questioned by their grandchildren, they will at least be better
prepared to respond with greater wisdom than I could .... so that they would be
able to tell a story to their grandchildren that they would readily believe in,
believe in love.