Satataharitam - Short Stories On Narayana

Ramapriya

Dark, heavy clouds swam into the evening sky as Rama sat under his dearest peepal tree, partly bored, partly tired, partly contemplative, and partly blank. He liked to have some of his favourite things packaged together, the clouds and trees, the winds and some drizzles, the silence, and some solitude.

He found it astonishingly easy to space out while he sat amidst the thriving nature on monsoon evenings. Mostly, he would just zone out and reach a blank state of being.

Today, he was closer to a state of magical hypnosis.

The ashtami of Shravana masa's  krishna paksha invariably came with relentless rains and ruthless thunder and lightning. Rama had observed this more keenly over his six years in the forest than he ever had in the palace or at his gurukula.

It was quite fascinating for him at a personal level, because for some reason, no matter how the day would go, he was always filled with an inexpleciable, overwhelming amount of joy when the sun set and he neared midnight. His happiness multiplied even more when Rohini nakshatra prevailed.

It was very confusing too, because why did he suddenly feel that way on a day that he couldn't recall a set significance for?

He often found more peacocks around him on that particular day as well. The calmer of the wild animals were frequent visitors to their humble hut, but the numbers were insane on that day of the year.

The hypnotic feeling of mystery only lasted a couple of minutes usually. Today, it was as if he couldn't pull himself out of it.

He heard something he never had. He heard something he hadn't heard in years.

A musical instrument. A flute. Tunes that brought to him awe, a sense of thrill and joy at once.

Amidst the crunch of the leaves and patter of rain he heard behind him, the sound from flute was still clear. It was smooth, barely stopping, as if the Lord of Wind himself was playing it.

The music started with soft notes, building up slowly to string together the most beautiful phrases Rama had ever heard. He had always loved music, but the flute was making its way right into the very depths of his souls, and so was the raga.

He didn't know how long had passed, but he could feel himself smiling a little, unable to move or even think of anything else as the music picked up pace. Lightning quick phrases with precision that he couldn't ever imagine himself even getting close to, climbing right up the octave to finish with a captivating muktaya, a long, enchanting one.

And then the music melted into phrases without rhythm, flowing like somebody opened the jar of their soul and emptied it at the top of a slope. A slope led to Rama's heart.

The music slowly died down as he felt a hand on his shoulder, a lot firmer than usual. "Bhaiya," the voice called. "Come, there's a peacock dancing in front of our house there..."

While Rama tried to use his impeccable reasoning to understand how all those elements of nature could be interconnected, his brother pulled him up with barely any effort and dragged him to the hut.

×××

"

What are you trying to do?" Adi Sesha asked his Lord, quite confused as the latter held in his hands a tube of bamboo.

"I need to get back in touch for Dwapara, don't I?" Vishnu winked and grinned. Sesha rolled his eyes at what was Vishnu's standard response to most questions those days. His plan for Dwapara seemed to be to wink and grin and be witty all the time.