Trips to Shirdi, home to the tomb of the 20th century saint Sai Baba, are always full of revelations. A quick trip with my parents and sister this week was no different.
Ironies up close and personal. Peoples and their faiths. Devotion. Life. Survival. A single trip can flash you photographic soul-search experiences in no time.
Over the next few posts, will pen in a few of these flashes in an attempt to understand their profundity.
Here is one for a start:
`Four of us heads in the aimless crowd of souls in a hurry to finish darshan, are clinging on the the steel barricade towards our right in the main hall of the shrine that houses the picture-perfect statute of Shirdi Sai Baba and his samadhi. We are careful to stick to the barricade as it is one of the queues that takes you close to the samadhi (I prefer to call it a grave, a tomb).
A little kid from somewhere behind is busy yelling out slogans - Sai Baba ki....while the crowd responds `Jai' with great enthusiasm. About 20 people in the same crowd are busy singing Sai songs. The crowd is less pushy than on the previous day. A relief.
Ahead of the barricade separating us, is the space where some of those from the darshan queue are allowed to sit for a minute. And is also the bay where the handicapped, geriatrics and their guardians are allowed entry.
An old man, with not so neat clothes is not willing to leave the area. When the security guards shove him, he flashes a piece quarter the size of a full-scape paper and shows it in the direction of Baba's samadhi. Is he demented? The thought comes naturally not just to me but other people around too. I ignore him. Only for a minute.
He picked up that paper, and with his thumb nail, began etching little curves on to the paper while holding it with his left hand. In about three minutes, he was done with making a lovely nail impression picture of Baba. Although not a perfect replica of the statue across the hall, this was worth a watch.
Facing us and the people around us, he held out the picture said, `Do you want it?' My sister held her hand out. `Take it', he said, as he gave the picture to her. `Is it nice?' he asked with a twinkle in his eye. ``It's very good,'' I said, and my family joined, gleaming. `You say it is good. At the village they kick me and throw me out for this...!'' sighed the man. He was so happy he took out another piece of paper from his pocket, and began another nail impression of Baba. This time, the paper was smaller.
My father, was only too happy to show the picture and its artist to people around. Watching him, another elderly gentleman near us was so impressed that he picked the second picture. And a few seconds later, held out a Rs 10 note to the old man. The old man was amused....`Me? I am just....I am just.....'' His gestures showed he was in no need of the money though. Some were shock amused. How can one treat him like a beggar? He was not doing it for money!
My father tried to diffuse any issue by asking the old man, to accept the money as blessings of Baba. He did, much to the consternation of my mother who said loudly, `How can he pay him? How can he fix a price for devotion?'
Some more praises followed. The old man got on to his next piece of paper. By now, another young girl `reserved' her picture.
A minute later, the queue moved. And we moved ahead.
By the time we returned to the spot on our way out, he was gone. Obviously the security guards who had let him stay for a while, decided to send him out.
Devotion. Myriad are the ways of its expression. Sometimes in the disconnected slogan yelling of a child who is doing it just for fun...sometimes at the tip of the nail of a villager's nimble hands. A villager who took the trouble of travelling all the way to the shrine, faced his own difficulties and yet, brought out his own little curios with devotion.
We did not ask the artist his name. His piece of art is a gift of God for my family now. Somewhere in their hearts, my folks think he was another manifestation of the marble saint seated across the hall.
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