Panchatantra in Maharashtra

There was an old farmer who had a young wife, who always had other men on her mind. She never attended to household jobs. She was always looking for younger men to spend time. One day, a trickster saw her and seeing that she was alone went to her and prayed, “O beauty, I am a widower. The minute I saw you I lost my heart to you. Please give me the pleasure of your company.”

Delighted, the woman told him, “O handsome, my husband has a lot of wealth. He is old and of no use to me. I will bring all the money and jewellery at home to you. Let us run away to a far off place and live there happily ever after.”

The trickster was very happy and asked her to bring all that money and gold to a place where he would be waiting for her. “We will then leave the place quietly,” he told her.

The farmer’s wife waited till it was dark and when her husband fell asleep stole all the money and gold, packed it in a bag and left the house at dawn to meet the trickster at a place he had indicated. The trickster took the bag full of money and gold from her on the pretext that he would carry it and began their journey. After two miles, they stopped because there was a river to cross.

The trickster thought, “What do I do with a woman? If someone else were to set eyes on her, I have to protect her. It is better I give her up but take the money with me.”

With these thoughts in mind he told the woman, “Look, my dear, it is very difficult to cross the river. I will first ferry the money bag to the other side of the river and keeping it there I will come back and carry you on my back.”

She said, “Okay” and gave the bag to the trickster. He asked her to give her clothes also because he said clothes would hinder swimming. She gave away her clothes also. The trickster left with the bag and her clothes.

Covering her naked body with her hands, the woman began waiting restlessly for the trickster to return. Just then a jackal with a piece of meat in his mouth happened to pass by. The jackal saw a fish that had come out of water and in trying to get at it he dropped the meat piece and ran towards it. But the fish, seeing the rushing jackal, jumped back into water. Disappointed, the jackal went back to pick up the piece of meat. But a kite dived down fast and took it away before the jackal could reach it.

The woman laughed at the jackal that had lost the fish and also the piece of meat. Hurt by the woman’s behaviour, the jackal said, “You may be twice as intelligent as I am. But what is the use? You have lost your husband, your lover and your wealth also.”

(PS…

For the Uninitiated...Characters in the above piece from Panchatantra...(must admit, Vishnu Sharma was a great visionary!!😀)

The young wife...Shiv Sena

The Old farmer...BJP

Trickster...NCP

Wealth...Maha State Treasury

Lady's Clothes...Central Ministry/Hindutva.

Jackal...Congress

Meat piece... Muslim votes

Fish....Kichdi Ideology.

Kite...Asaduddin Owaisi.

Vedeshwar's Library: Fading Legacies of Gokarna

The hinterlands tucked away from Kudle beach and its environs looked hardly inhabited by humans. Excepting for a handful of scattered hutments posing as 'luxury' resorts, there were hardly any signs of life in the region. A post breakfast morning stroll across a kutcha beaten path lead me to what looked like a deserted house from afar, that I thought, had probably seen better times in the past.

Approaching nearer to it, I noticed a scooter parked in the shade of the verandah. Library and Granthalaya were two words the adorned it's outer wall facing the sea.

A middle aged man sporting a stubble dressed in tees and a half trouser looked up from his vintage chair and looked enquiringly at me. "Is this a library?", I stupidly ventured to ignite a conversation. "Yes...", he answered rather lazily that really did not encourage one to prod any more. All the same, I asked him, "May I see the library". "Of course, you may", he offered, finally becoming a little interested. I walked down the array of books arranged in about 50 wooden and glass enclosures, lined along the wall with heaps of books stacked on tables placed at the inner spaces closer to the centre.

The inside of the building comprised of a large hall-cum-reading room, maintained impeccably clean and dust-free and luxuriously tiled floors. It dawned on me that looks are certainly deceptive and what I see is not always what I get!

Seeing me look over the titles closely, he explained, "My father, in his prime, conceived the idea of an ''encyclopaedic'' library, with a view to encourage our village youth to take to reading voraciously. So this is all the his handiwork. I have no real interest in this library." He continued, "I don't earn anything from the library". As intended by my father, I am offering the services free of cost to one and all who like to read". "But there are hardly any takers today. Every book is available on the net. Besides, today's youth hardly read more than what is mandated by the academic educational system", he lamented.

On noticing a book by Umberto Eco, I curiously picked it up. He cautioned, "those books are all in French. Do you know the language?" I beat a hasty retreat and asked him if there was an English version. He said, "no, these titles and many more that you seen in the racks around are French stuff donated to this library by a firang".

Looking around for my pet literature, I asked him, "Where is your section on wild life and Indology?" His lament continued.."I have no knowledge of library science or how to classify these books. It has been arranged in no particular manner. My father used to arrange them in the manner he best thought fit during his active years". I was getting curiouser, "How did your father develop such deep interest in books and library? Was he a professor in any college?"

He narrated, "My father had not gone beyond high school. But he took a deep interest in books, not just for the sake of reading, but to provide facilities to the village folk to take to serious reading. He formed a "Study Circle" in Gokarna by establishing a private library in the interest of students in the village. He collected books of all kinds from various sources and spent a good lot of time and money in making a large library."

This brought me to my next logical question, "Where is your father, and your mother?" He pointed to a room to the north east corner and said, "My father is bed ridden. He is 90. My mother is also old and walks feebly. They need me to look after them 24/7."

Now I entreated him, "Can I see your parents, I will surely not disturb them"

Ariyama, which I later reckoned, is his name, willingly lead me to the corner room where a Kannada news channel was blaring out sound bytes. Watching it intently was a frail old lady, about 80 years of age . She saw me and beckoned me near her. I met her with folded hands and bent down to touch her feet. She blessed me, asking, "Where do you come from?" I replied, "Tamil Nadu". She smiled and indicated that she knows no other language other than Kannada. I moved over to another corner of the room where the nonagenarian was peacefully asleep. I bent down, touched his feet in obeisance and got up. She was touched by my act and asked me to wait at the reading hall. Presumably, she wanted to give me something.

                                                                                                                                                                                          

Ariyama and I adjourned to the reading hall. I pursued the conversation, "So what do you do for a living?" He nonchalantly said, "Nothing much. I look after my parents and send my little daughter to school located downtown. I have no wife. My brother from Mumbai takes care of our subsistence."

Ariyama had a penchant to pre-empt penetrating questions by stating facts nonchalantly in a summarized way. And then minimum decency in a dialogue doesn't permit one to probe further into a statement. Presently, his mother, after searching through a pile of papers on a table, came up with a photograph of Sri Ganapati Vedeshwar, her husband and herself presumably taken a few years earlier. She told me endearingly, "You can keep this if you like." I accepted it humbly.

A satiated Ariyama was watching this, and having assured himself that here is a person with whom I can open up, continued his story, "This library was built on our land by a French national and donated to me. I used to run a small cafe earlier. You can see a small kiosk in ruins outside the house to the eastern corner. That used to be my day-long pastime about 10 years ago.

Ariyama understood the quizzical look on my face and explained, "The French tourist took a liking to my place and offered to do anything for me. A car, house, or anything else that you want, but not money which mars relationships..was the kind of offer he made me. I, out of my regard for my father and to sustain his interest in the library services, requested him to build a large library that can house about 35000 books along with accompaniments of furniture and other accessories. I also asked him to make a comfortable accommodation for my parents and my limited family in a corner of the building. He readily agreed and this is the result', waving his right hand across the length of the large building. We used to stay in our joint family household sometime back. Ever since this was built, we had shifted lock, stock and barrel to this place. It has been about a decade since we left our ancestral home in town."

Now I had,but to quiz him , "But why would he do this for you?" Ariyama replied with a look of serene wisdom on his countenance, "People don't indulge in largesse for nothing. He honestly told me that he is looking forward to a joint business venture that can be established on my expansive lands behind this building facing the sea. I don't do this much for you for no thing..he quoted his French friend. I was initially circumspect and even kept prodding him to extreme irritation and embarrassment. He finally told me, if you can undosthund me, I am happy. Both if you  misondosthood me, I he no thing to say und leave it to you be happy that way." The French have their own way with English. And Ariyama seemed near perfect in imitating his French friend.

That prodded me to ask him, "How far did you study?" He responded with abhorrence, "Only a degree, from a college in Kumta. There were no colleges in Gokarna those days. And a degree is hardly enough to land oneself in gainful employment"', with an added justification on his current status.

Do people come here to read? He said, "Hardly any. You will get all of them on the net. Sometimes, Europeans come here to relax and read a book. A French tourist further supplemented my already overflowing library by donating another heap of French books, taking the count to 40,000."

He seemed happy to pour out his existential realities to me, finding me a good listener and a seemingly harmless man. I, on my part, was happy to see this place with a legacy dating down to Sri Ganapati Vedheshwar's prime days, and whose blessings I could seek. These are opportunities to seek simple, non-sensational and legacy ridden stories and also to restore humility in the self. Ariyama was on a narration spree to let me know all about him and the library but sadly I had to excuse myself since I couldn't afford to miss my train from Gokarna Road in a couple of hours. He bid me goodbye and I promised to see him and spend a good time in his library during my next visit.