Manjanadi, a sleepy village in Mangalore had sprung to life with the ongoing Marnemi* festivities. Streets, shops, and houses were brightly lit to welcome the Goddess Sharda Devi. The century-old temple shimmered with a golden glow during Marnemi.
Just opposite the temple was the Sharada ashram which housed destitute women. It was run by Amma Bhavani, a sadhvi*. She ran an incense stick factory where the women, living in the ashram worked. This took care of their expenses and gave them a purpose in life.
Amma Bhavani made her presence felt at sharp 8 am, as women bowed their heads and welcomed her with folded hands. She was their revered guru and mentor.
The tall, slim, and dusky sadhvi entered the prayer hall clad in a saffron robe. The big, red vermillion dot between the three lines of white vibhuti (sacred ash) smeared on her forehead added a mystical touch to her luminescent face. The glow on her face was testimony that she had gained victory over all emotions that crisscrossed her path.
Every Friday she met and counselled people with problems. Nobody has ever left her ashram without a solution. Word spread far and wide about her mystical powers.
People flocked to her ashram like bees swarming around flowers.
Some of them wanted to know their future and some wanted solutions to their problems. She had a working analysis of man’s troubles: marriage, money, and the tangles of human ties. Many years of experience and practice had sharpened her perception.
The tonsured head, squarish face, big expressive eyes, slightly protruding, frontal teeth, and dusky complexion seemed mysterious at first glance. But her words always succeeded in calming the villagers' frayed nerves. Their heads swayed to her words like snakes dancing to the snake charmer’s tunes.
“Breathe, take a deep breath. Concentrate on your breath. Leave the past behind and be in the present. All ailments can be cured if you keep your mind at peace."
" The good, bad, and evil lie in each of us. It is up to us to ensure that each time we defeat the evil and allow 'the good' to triumph. Don’t worry about the future. It’s not in our hands. Tell me what ails you. I will help you get rid of it.”
Amma’s tranquil voice punctuated the silence of the room. Her words affirmed the villagers’ beliefs and it soothed their senses. They would follow her bidding without uttering a single word.
A huge idol of Goddess Sharada Devi was placed in the center. The aroma of fresh jasmine, camphor, and incense sticks filled the air.
Bringing their palms together, as if in a trance, they chanted in unison, " Amma! Amma! “
"May Goddess Sharda Devi bless you all!" Amma raised her hands high up in the air as the crowd bowed their heads in reverence.
Prayers were held twice in the ashram; morning and evening.
After the Friday evening prayers, people who wanted a private sitting with Amma stayed back. Amma Bhavani went to her private chamber and sat cross-legged with her eyes closed. Her assistants sent the devotees one by one into her chamber.
“Amma, help me. My husband is a drunkard. He blows up all his money on alcohol and comes back home drunk every night He fights with me and beats me up if I try to say something. I don’t know what to do, Amma. I want to end my life,” wailed the middle-aged lady covering her mouth with the tip of her saree.
Amma Bhavani sat with her eyes closed for a few seconds, chanting a mantra, and after much deliberation opened her eyes and placed a fistful of vibuti* on the lady’s palm.” Your problems will all come to an end. Have faith in the goddess. What did you say your husband’s name was? And where do you stay? I need all these details to include in the special prayers I offer to the goddess every night. Apply this vibuti on your husband’s forehead every day after his bath. Your husband will certainly mend his ways. Don’t ever think of ending your life,” counselled Amma in her soft, squeaky voice.
Amma’s words instantly calmed the lady. She left after prostrating before her and giving her the required details.
Another lady stepped in. She looked lost and forlorn. She sat brooding with downcast eyes in front of Amma.
Amma waited for her to regain her composure.
"My husband is being controlled by a nautch girl, Amma. He is completely smitten by her and does not give even a penny towards household expenses. Begging is the only option left for me. I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t pay heed to even advice from elders at home,” Her head bobbed up and down as she sobbed inconsolably.
Amma stooped towards the lady and patted her head, trying to console her. She whispered a chant into her ears.” Chant this twice a day. Morning and night in front of the goddess' idol at home. Have faith. Everything will be alright. Why don’t you work in our incense stick factory? You will earn some money and it will also keep you occupied. Before you leave give the name and if possible, the whereabouts of the nautch girl,” Amma affirmed with a quick nod, raising her palms in the air.
Touching her forehead to the ground, the woman left wiping away her tears.
It was true that Amma had the same solutions for every problem; the vibuti and the holy chant. But no one came back to the ashram with the same problem. For the people of the village, she was their saviour. Soon people from nearby places came with their woes to seek solutions.
It was now time for Amma to retire to solitude. The loud ringing of the bells from the temple nearby rented the air. It was time for the evening arti at the temple. But before that, she had something important to do.
“Put some sense into that drunkard. Send him to the rehabilitation center in the city, if the need arises. Give him a scare he will remember for life. In the second case warn the nautch girl to keep away from the man. Remember not to hurt her. Just threaten her to leave this place. Give her some money to settle in another place. I will share the details with you. Keep an eye on both for a few months. Now get going, " a booming voice thundered.
***
Amma Bhavani had just finished her morning prayers. She spoke to the women in the ashram advising some, admonishing a few, complimenting one, and consoling another. This was what she had been doing for the last ten years.
The factory was doing good business. All households, and temples in the vicinity and the neighbouring villages bought incense sticks from the factory outlet. The sales had almost tripled. Amma used the revenue for the betterment of the inmates and the villagers. She deposited a portion of the profits, in her account.
As she was overseeing the work at the factory, ‘Dhum dhum dhum,’ the beat of the drums filled the air. Amma watched from her window as the inmates rushed to watch Pili Yesa*.
A group of five men whose bodies were painted in yellow and brown stripes pranced about raising their hands high. Their footsteps matched the rhythm of the drum beats. The marigold garland on their necks and the long tails attached to their backs swayed back and forth. Sticking their tongues out the dancers thrust their wig-clad heads forward. The ashram’s inmates clapped their hands in glee and watched their performance open-mouthed.
“Isn’t life like Pili Yesa? We wear a character’s garb and dance to the beats of life. It is up to us to ensure the dance is a joyous one. It’s okay to skip a beat but the dance must go on,” pondered Amma.
She smiled, seeing their enthusiasm and the festive fervor that had caught on amidst the inmates and the village.
“After their performance give them refreshments and some money,” instructed Amma to the lady standing near her.
The warm October breeze caressed her face gently, slowly drifting her back in time. Her past never bothered her, it gave her the strength to fight, the strength to go on come what may. But the dead weight of guilt and repentance weighed her down.
***
“Wake up you lazy girl. Clean the floors in an hour, hago-a*?” hollered the warden, as 10-year-old Jinora wrapped her hands around her torn lokpa*, trying hard to open her eyelids. She had slept past midnight after doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. The tattered quilt invited her to stay in bed for a few more minutes. But Jinora, fearing the warden’s tongue-lashing, leaped out of her warm bed to the freezing cold outside, saying,” Hago*!”
Cotton balls of mist played hide and seek amidst two majestic mountain peaks with white crowns. The snow-covered valley looked like the clouds had decided to touch the ground rather than float in the sky. Jinora stood taking in the sight dreaming about her future. “Jinora!” The harsh cry brought her back to reality. Her pretty face withered like a deflated balloon. Tying up her long, black hair in a high ponytail, she got to work.
Jinora stayed in an orphanage run by a gompa* in Sani, a hamlet in Zanskar Valley, Ladakh. The children’s home housed 20 children.
The warden ill-treated them and burdened their weak bodies with mundane chores. Jinora's day would start with a cup of hot kahwah* and that was all she was given till lunchtime. She and the other kids were entrusted with cleaning the rooms, helping in the kitchen, and accumulating wood, dung, and grass on the terrace for drying, to be used in the winter months to make fire.
“Somebody left you at the doorsteps in the wee hours of the morning. If they can’t take responsibility why give birth in the first place? Seeing your radiant face and the shine in your eyes, the trustee named you Jinora, the spiritual, wise one. But I fail to see anything spiritual or wise in you,” the warden had scoffed when Jinora mustered up the courage to ask about her parents.
The orphanage got ample funds from the Buddhist trust and philanthropists but the warden gobbled up most of it. The children were given very little food and made to slog the whole day. For the little kids, it was as if their childhood was left far behind.
The children longed to discover the beautiful landscape, rivers, lakes, snow-clad mountains, and the valley's amazing skyline but had to make do by snatching glimpses from the window. Looking out the window and gazing at the world outside was Jinora’s favourite pastime. Sadly, for her, it was a luxury.
She felt a thrill traverse her body each time she spotted adventure enthusiasts or trekkers engaged in trekking or river rafting. She dreamt of someday doing the same.
Jinora looked forward to two activities; one, her evening lessons, and two, her prayers. Two teachers visited the orphanage on most days. Since the teachers were hand-in-glove with the warden, the children could not complain to them. Jinora made the most of the classes absorbing every word like a sponge. The trustees monitored the progress of the children from time to time. This was the only thing the warden did not have a say in.
“Jinora, since you are done with your work, finish ours too, “hooted the older boys. Initially, she would agree. But when they continued to bully her, she realized being meek would only add to her pile of woes. She would complete their work in a way that they were pulled up for the shabby work. Slowly and steadily, Jinora learned that she needed to be tough to survive.
Jinora found solace in spinning the prayer wheel every night and chanting.
Once a year, life at the orphanage would transform into a blissful home. The kids were given new clothes, serpo tipis*, and good food. That was the day members of the trust would come to review the orphanage. They would speak to the kids and enquire about their well-being.
“If you dare open your mouth in front of the trustees, I will skin you alive. Hago-a? Tell him you are given nutritious food every day. Specifically, remember to praise me.” The warden used to warn them. “And you, good-for-nothing girl, if you try to do anything, I will leave you in the streets just like your parents left you here.” She would remind Jinora with a tight tug at her long plait. Every time she would hear of her parents abandoning her, an unsettling feeling nestled deep inside.
The kids would eagerly wait for the trustee; once he arrived, they would be served warm Chutagi* and a bowl of phirni*. Slurping a spoonful of phirni at leisure amidst playful banter, filled their hearts with joy. Only when the spoon scraped against the floor of the bowl did the children realize it was time for the bubble to burst. Their narrowed eyes and downcast face spoke volumes but nobody listened.
“Khamzang in-a- ley*?” The trustee asked caressing Jinora’s back lovingly. “Khamzang in ley *,” she said as the corner of her eyes searched for the warden. Tears appeared in Jinora’s eyes every time he spoke. She was so used to the warden’s jibes that she found it difficult to reciprocate his kind words and gentle touch.
This year Jinora had made up her mind, come what may she would try to catch the trustee’s attention. She could not bear to see the smaller kids being beaten up black and blue. The tears in their eyes and the desolate faces had ignited a fire in her. “How can I get past the warden’s eagle eyes without getting noticed!” she pondered.
Smiling from ear to ear, the warden showered love on the children. The kids were so used to her nasty behaviour that they could not digest it. Jinora waited for the right moment. She clasped a crumpled piece of paper in her hand so snugly as if it were the strings to her future.
Once the formalities were all over and the trustee was about to leave. Jinora noticed that he had left his glasses on the dining table, so she rushed forward to make the right use of the opportunity. Before the warden could make a move, along with the glasses she slipped the piece of paper into his hands.
The trustee walked out of the orphanage as the warden flashed a victorious smile. Year after year she had passed the test and that too with flying colours.
“Take your new clothes off, fold them neatly, and hand them to me. Start with the day’s work,” she hollered, widening her eyes as the kids scampered inside.
The trustee read the note in his car. “Please save us from this hell.” This one sentence written by Jinora brought tears to the trustee’s eyes. He had always felt something amiss but wasn’t able to put a finger on it. The warden proved too clever for him.
The note spurred the trustee to take immediate action. A committee was set up to look into the affairs of the orphanage. The warden was rusticated and handed over to the police. The orphanage was handed over to a new management.
That was the second lesson she learned. However indomitable the obstacle seems; it can be scaled. Her stay at the orphanage had made her rough and tough. She was now confident that she could handle anything and everything.
***
"Amma, there's a man who has come to meet you. He says it's urgent and can't wait till tomorrow," called out an attendant breaking Amma Bhavani's reverie.
With a long sigh, she nodded her head and sat up straight.
Amma then walked into the chamber where she met visitors.
The sun was slowly making its descent. It was the last night of Navratri. The temple was gung-ho about making arrangements for the procession to be taken around important streets before the immersion of the Goddess.
Amma sat cross-legged waiting for the visitor.
He walked in with his shoulders pushed backward and arms flinging carelessly by his sides.
One look at him and Amma felt a chill down her spine. “What? How is this possible?” Her body shuddered, her lips quavered and her mouth went dry. Beads of sweat formed a beeline across her forehead. She sat with closed eyes, numb with shock.
“I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out. I have come this far. If I have handled sticky situations and come out of it unscathed, I can handle this too,” Amma affirmed, opening her eyes.
But when he bowed before her, without even a flicker of recognition on his face, she heaved a long sigh of relief.
She took a few deep breaths to regain composure. Then she looked straight into his eyes. The emotions that had wreaked havoc in her mind now receded into oblivion. It was now a blank canvas.
With a wave of her hand, she gestured for him to sit.
"I am Akon Thupten from Ladakh. I am on the lookout for a woman who tried to kill me. I have been looking for her for two decades. Can you tell me if I will find her and if yes, where should I look for her? Is she dead or alive? A few trekkers from here who had visited Ladakh mentioned you. Amma, they say that you have mystical powers and you have a solution to all problems. That woman is my problem. I need to find her, " he bellowed in one breath.
"How he has remained untouched by time, except for a few grey strands on his pate and wrinkles on his forehead! The same brash, impulsive nature! The same fidgety, red eyes that flickered with anger! "
Memories lashed at her each time she saw his outstretched palms.
A horizontal scar on his neck stood out amidst the dark folds of his skin. Some memories remain etched in the mind forever just like the scars from deep wounds.
She closed her eyes and chanted a mantra. She sat as if in a trance for a couple of minutes. This gave her enough time to handle the predicament she was in. She took time to deliberate and sediment the scattered thoughts in her mind.
Slowly opening her eyes, she stared hard at his rugged face, " Your face is like an open book. I can read what's in your mind. The woman you are looking for is your wife. She proved a danger in your life because you chose the wrong path. And today I see the same danger lurking behind you. Go back to where you belong and never set foot on this land again. If you do, then that would be your last day on earth. And this time nothing can save you. The woman you are looking for is long gone. Her life was crushed under a speeding lorry," she spoke in a calm and composed voice. Her strong words effortlessly concealed the tremor in her voice.
At first, fear spread on the visitor's face. His eyes darted all across the room as he fidgeted in his seat.
“Serves her right!” he hissed, gritting his teeth.
Seeing the impact of her words on him, she cleared her throat to continue," Leave all that you did in the past behind. Start afresh from today. If you walk on the right path, no harm will ever cross your way." Stretching her arms towards him she gave him a fistful of vibhuti.
“You have given me the best piece of information. Something that I have longed to hear. Now I have nothing left to do. I will leave this place today itself and will never come back. “Jule, Amma,” he mumbled. Getting up, he brought his palms together and bowed in front of her in reverence. He tottered out of the chamber, satisfaction writ large on his face.
Pushing her back towards the cushion, she rested her head against the wall. Once again, she had succeeded in burying the past.
Her shoulders drooped as the dead weight of guilt; she had been carrying for decades left her instantly.
Amma's mind replayed the buried past, yet again, like a stuck record.
***
After Jinora had completed her basic education, she was married off to Akon Thupten, a local vendor in a close-knit ceremony organized by Buddhist monks in a gompa. Jinora, on the one hand, felt heartbroken to leave the home that she had lived for twenty years but on the other hand, a delirious tingle settled at the bottom of her heart. She had finally found someone to call her own.
The tall and well-built Akon owned a trinket shop in one of the alleys of Zanskar Valley. The shop being close to Zanskar Creek was an added advantage. Tourists thronged his shop to buy handcrafted metal figurines, knives, tools, and intricately designed silver jewellery as takeaways.
“Can I assist you in the shop?” Jinora asked him one day as she brought him his lunch. “No!” he barked. “You stay at home. I don’t want you to interfere in my work. From tomorrow, I will carry lunch. I don’t want you to come here. Hago-a?” he hollered, his eyelids moving rapidly.
Jinora noticed that his mannerisms changed totally whenever she spoke about his shop. She felt it was best to leave it at that and avoided broaching the topic again.
Initially, everything seemed hunky dory. He showered her with love and affection but over time, he changed colours like a chameleon. He berated Jinora and shouted at her for no fault of hers. This reminded her of her initial days at the orphanage. There were times, he would swagger home with red eyes and yell at her for no rhyme or reason.
Akon never let Jinora touch his cupboard, it was always kept locked.
There were times when customers came knocking at their door at unearthly hours. Akon would stealthily hand over small packets to them in exchange for a huge amount of money. Whenever Jinora questioned, his reply would be a red imprint of his five fingers on her white cheek.
One day Akon had left in a hurry forgetting to lock his cupboard. Jinora locked the door fearing Akon would come back. On opening the cupboard’s drawers, she found small sachets containing white powder inside. She remembered reading about drugs being peddled to tourists visiting the valley in the newspaper.
All the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle now fit in together. She realized that her husband was a trinket vendor in the eyes of society but was selling drugs on the sly and was also a drug addict. Jinora wanted to expose him but thought of waiting for the right moment. She had to collect information and proof of his dealings. Then she would set a trap and ensure the police catch him red-handed.
Akon’s behaviour was getting bad to worse. Jinora bore the brunt of his angry outbursts.
Winter had slowly set into the valley. Sheets of ice covered the rivers and creeks. The tourist footfalls were on the decline.
Akon had left home early in the morning without breakfast and had forgotten to carry his lunch. Jinora, wrapping a lokpa* around her shoulder, trudged on carrying Akon’s lunch, fearing his wrath. The alley leading to his shop wore a deserted look.
Akon was yelling something loudly at no one in particular. Jinora found this rather strange. Not meeting his red, fiery eyes she handed over the bowl of steaming hot thukpa*.
"Is this what you call food, you woman? Maybe this is what they served you in the orphanage. " He threw the bowl of hot thukpa on her face. As the scalding soup singed her face, she howled in pain. Anger seeped out through every cell of her body. This was the last straw on the camel's back.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, and her eyes bore into him, " I know you are a drug peddler. I will inform the police and put you behind bars," she fumed, her face turning red and her nostrils flaring up.
For a minute Akon was zapped out of his wits. He had never seen her retaliate like this before. The next moment, he rushed forward to teach her a lesson she would remember.
"How dare you!" Shaking with anger he pushed and banged her face against the wall. Blood spurted out of her mouth as her two front teeth broke. Inching closer he interlocked his palms around her throat.
Choking for breath, Jinora tried pushing him away with all her strength. But she was no match to the sturdy man.
In desperation, her hands tried reaching out for something that she could shield herself with. Her trembling fingers found a knife that was kept on display. Gripping the handle in her fist, with one swift movement she slashed his neck. His eyes widened in terror and his grip loosened. Jinora gasped as he staggered back. She froze for a second as her body went numb with fear. Regaining composure, she ran down the alley and heard his footsteps close on her heels.
Panting and gasping for breath, she crouched behind a crumbling mud wall and peeked into the alley near the frozen creek. On seeing him lying down motionless in a pool of blood she ran towards her house. For a moment she thought she would confess at the police station but she feared she would be tortured and would be put in prison. The prison stories that she had heard and read filled her with terror.
She kept running with blood from her mouth trailing down to her chest. Entering her house, she packed a few necessary things and some money that she had saved. Quickly washing her face, she applied ice to stop the bleeding. She had no time to think. She had to flee the place before anyone spotted Akon’s dead body.
Getting on to a moving bus she got down at Padum. Once she felt rested, taking help from a villager she travelled in his truck to Srinagar. She kept changing places for fear that the police would find her and imprison her for killing her husband.
At one such place, a kind dentist at a government hospital helped fix her half-broken, loose teeth. Since she didn’t stay back to continue with the treatment, her two front teeth protruded slightly, totally changing her appearance.
She shaved off her long, lustrous hair. The scorching heat of the sun transformed her fair complexion into many shades darker. The skin around her cheeks sagged with all the stress that her mind was subjected to. With her two buck teeth, she no longer resembled the young girl who longed to see the outside world and the woman who wanted to make a little world of her own.
She took shelter in places of worship and lived on the alms given by people.
She travelled endlessly by buses, trucks, tempos, carts, and sometimes by foot. She crossed districts, cities, and states. Wherever she went she carried her prayer wheels. The prayers and chanting gave her the strength and the courage to keep going.
When she finally reached Manjanadi, a village in Mangalore, she found solace. The tall coconut trees, green fields, serene beaches, and vibrant temples soothed her senses. She felt that her past would not be able to catch up with her and she decided to settle there.
She took shelter under a tree near a temple. On most days she sat cross-legged with her eyes closed. She wore a long, saffron robe that somebody had donated. Mistaking her to be an ascetic, people began offering her fruits. As she didn’t know the local language she communicated using gestures.
People who came to her offered money in return for her suggestions.
She had not studied the holy scriptures but experience had taught her life lessons. She used this to analyze human behaviour. It took her years to learn Tulu, the local language.
Over the years Jinora slowly transformed into Amma Bhavani.
***
Vijayadashami marked the culmination of the Marnemi celebrations at the Sharada temple. Streets were lit with rows of earthen lamps.
A procession of Goddess Sharada, Navadurgas, and Lord Ganesha idols brought festive spirit and spiritual feelings into the minds of devotees who thronged to witness the grand parade. The presence of tableaux, traditional dances, and musical instruments made the procession more vibrant and colourful.
The ashram’s inmates stood with folded hands as the procession passed the ashram.
Amma's eyes locked with Goddess Durga's fiery eyes. “People worship the Goddess but neglect the devi within each woman. Devi is not elsewhere; she is within each one of us. She gives us strength to fight the evil.”
She had realized she could not fight against 'the bad' and 'the evil' by being good. Only a diamond can cut a diamond. She had to resort to other ways to help bring peace and happiness to people's lives.
"Forgive me, O Goddess, if you feel I am doing wrong. Please give me the courage and the strength to help distressed people.” Amma Bhavani bowed her head and prayed earnestly.
***
" Ensure Akon, the guy who visited me today has left the city. Track him for a few days. If he is still loitering around teach him a lesson he will remember for life, " boomed Amma Bhavani's voice lashing instructions to her henchmen.
***
Glossary:
1. Marnemi: Navratri celebrations in Mangalore
2. Sadhvi: A virtuous, religious woman
3. Vibuti: Sacred ash
4. Pili Yesa: A folk dance of Mangalore, also called Tiger dance
5. Hago-a: Do you understand?
6. Lokpa: Square capes worn by girls in Ladakh
7. Hago: I understand
8. Gompa: Buddhist monastery
9. Kahwah: Green tea
10. Serpo tipis: A cap made of yak felt
11. Chutagi: Pieces of dough cooked in a hearty vegetable soup
12. Phirni: Dessert made using ground rice, sugar and milk
13. Khamzang-in-a-ley: How are you?
14. Khamzang-in-ley: I am fine
15. Thukpa: A clear soup with vegetables and noodles
16. Jule: Thank you
Words, phrases, and names of cuisine from the Ladakh region.