The Journey by Ashoka Mithran

This is an English translation of “Pirayanam” written by Ashoka Mithran. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam. 

…

The Journey by Ashoka Mithran

This is an English translation of “Pirayanam” written by Ashoka Mithran. Translated into English by Saravanan Karmegam. 

…

I turned back again hearing the moans of pain. My master’s eyes were visibly strained and closed due to unbearable pain. The long wooden plank I was dragging, having him lie on it, was partly drenched. I reached out to him in a leap. 

“I don’t believe I would make it anymore,” he said. 

I looked around and found not a trace of a white patch in the sky. The hillocks nestling each other on the sprawling landscape as far as my eyes could see were covered with small bundles of clouds. The edges of the hill lock where we were walking down ended in a vertically descending gorge of about a hundred feet with a brook at the bottom. Though it looked like a pool of stagnant water from above, it was a running stream fiercely hitting the rocks and was falling into a valley at a little distance away. On the other side, the hills stood high. Walking down a distance of twelve miles along the edges would lead us to a mountain pass. After that, there lay a plain full of small bushes. They would gradually wane as we entered the forest area. Beyond the forest was there flowing a small river. We would then get into a village, Harirambukur, where we would find the first traces of human settlement, sitting on the fringes of the forest on the riverbank. It took two full days when I and my master were on our way by foot, passing through Harirambukur to reach our hermitage six months ago. ‘Now half of the day is over even before crossing half of the mountain. In half an hour, it’d get dark’ .  

I opened my rucksack, took out a big towel and a long bag woven with rough woollen fibre, removed the woollen rug wrapped up around my master’s body and other clothes, wrapped him up again with the long towel, and helped him to stuff himself into the woollen bag. Though the bag could accommodate his whole body, including his head, I kept one end of it open to expose his face. I covered his ears with a woollen muffler, wrapping it up around his head. 

“Can I make some gruel for you, Master?” I asked. 

He gestured with his eyes, ‘yes.’.

I took out a small tin box, a round-shaped utensil usually given to soldiers during the Second World War, and a ‘military’ water bottle from the bag. Half-filled the utensil with water and opened the lid of the tin box in which half a quantity of frozen kerosene had been kept. I struck the matchstick and brought it near to the brim. The frozen kerosene started burning in steady flames at once. Holding the handle of the utensil deftly, I heated up the water in the flame. Sooner the water reached its first boil, I mixed a handful of starch flour I carried in a bundle on my back with it and stirred it with a dry twig, continued boiling, and added some water to prevent it from becoming a thick paste. The porridge was ready. I closed the burning tin box with its lid. The fire was off except for some streaks of flame popping out. I kept stirring the mixture in the utensil itself and made it considerably cold. When the hot gruel reached a tolerable level of safe consumption, I gently lifted my master’s head a little, kept it on my lap, and started feeding him with it. Within a couple of gulps, he gestured that it was enough. It looked like he had mustered up some strength in his body. I drank up the remaining gruel and packed the utensil after cleaning it with a cloth instead of water, as there was only a little water left in the ‘bottle.’. I had to go to the creek below to bring water, possibly only in the next morning. 

My master was lying, with his mouth open. With my year-long yoga training under his guidance, I had hard learnt not to breathe with my mouth under any circumstances. But my master, who had lived his life as a complete ‘Yogi’ for the past fifty years, was now struggling even to breathe with his mouth. Until the day he fell down with a sharp shrill, clutching his stomach tightly, hardly anyone could have felt his breathing unless they employed their keen eyes on him to notice it. Even if it was visible, they would be able to feel his breath coming out in long and steady spells from the previous one. Now he was struggling to breathe through his mouth.

The sun was setting behind the hills and spreading monstrous shadows on its slopes. It would take only a couple of minutes for the darkness and those shadows to merge with each other. I collected some dried twigs from the creepers and plants grown thin like sticks here and there. I didn’t feel cold. My master, who had never worn the upper cloth in his life, was now lying bundled up in a woollen bag, wrapping his body with a woollen towel. He needed warmth. The dew drops would descend heavily in the midnight. Unlike with its usual vapour form, it would fall in the form of smoggy bundles. My master would require warmth at that time. The warmth was required for one more reason—one could see the puck marks during the day. The owners of those puck marks would surely come that night. 

I brought some dried plants, uprooting them. I had to squint my eyes very often to look around before completing two rounds of collecting those dried twigs, carrying them as much as I could, cuddling it along my chest. I had a bundle of wood secured with the wooden plank I was dragging with my master lain on it. Those wood pieces were hard nuts; they wouldn’t pick up fire fast. Even if they did, they wouldn’t last even a night. We would never carry wood beyond our requirement when we used to make visits to Harirambukur on some emergency needs from our hermitage twice or thrice a year. But this time it was very clear that those firewood wouldn’t come in sufficient enough.

I handpicked some smaller palm-sized twigs and heaped them conically near my master’s legs. There were no signs of birds around. Though the wind was breezy, it nevertheless made a deep booming noise as it had to hit on the slopes of the hills. The creek in full spate, flowing about a hundred feet below, at a distance of half a mile away, was giving out its continuous rumbles. Other than these sounds and the sound of my master’s choked breath, there were no sounds around for my ear to hear. 

The dried twigs were burning like wicks of crackers. I poised five or six pieces of firewood sticks like equidistant hands of a wheel just for the tip of flames to reach it. The stars started twinkling in groups in the sky. One of the sticks caught fire and burnt with flames. I swiftly took it out from the rest, swung it fast across as to put the flames out, and kept it down again as a live ember. Only one of those sticks was emitting a thick smoke. I flipped it and tapped it on the ground a little. The smoke was now thin. I sat near my master with a long bamboo pole, keeping it under my custody for meeting any eventuality. The cliffs of the mountains around us that looked like monstrous frozen waves were visible as dark shadows even in that pitch dark. 

Having left with no other options, I had to sit and keep watching them for hours till dawn. Sitting in tranquillity, I began to feel the ever-growing presence of my being in me. I used to bring such consciousness in me in my earlier days, deliberately awaiting it every day, sitting on empty spaces when my master was lying on bed inside the hermitage without any ailments in his body. Now I grew worried about getting rid of that consciousness surging in me without my consent. At that time, I felt the two cliffs in the distance became one and were moving in my direction. An unfathomable fear appeared to rise from my abdomen. My super-conscious state of being vanished at once. Shifting my attention from the mountain cliffs, I started watching the sky. The stars that were found strewn around the sky a while ago were now visible in individual clusters. Those clusters didn’t first bear any resemblance to images that could be perceived in some way in my mind. But, very soon, each cluster seemed to have developed limbs of different kinds and resembled various images flying wildly, extending their limbs. It also seemed that even my breathing while closing my eyes did come out with an appeal of musical rhythm. I felt my consciousness dragging me into slumber when my mind was actively engaging itself with it. Cutting it off abruptly, I opened my eyes and threw them over the stars above. When the stars were changing into different clusters and then into different images, I glanced at those cliffs. The moment I became aware that my mind was inclined to merge with the rhythmic sounds of master’s breathing, I grew alert and sat down straight. I mustn’t lose my consciousness that night no matter what the situation. I must reach Harirambukur somehow, crossing this mountain, plains, jungle, and river. I should make medical treatment available to my master. The snowfall started descending heavily. I wrapped my head up with an old towel that was lying with me unused and sat down with my one thigh upon another. 

I could hear the roars of wind blowing across the mountain cliffs bang in me. The sound of the brook was also heard. I was expanding, expanding in all directions, and kept expanding as if I had started losing my weight and frame every second. Though every sound around me was audible in my ears, I felt that they all had been active only on some common basis. That time, I heard an odd sound coming from above all. It didn’t get along with other sounds around that time. Again, that sound of hissing with ferocity! I curled myself in seconds. The proficiency I had mastered through my year-long training towards concentrating one’s mind did seem unnecessary that moment. I heard that sound of ferocity once again. Grasping tightly the bamboo pole, I threw my eyes in the direction the sound came from. I saw two twinkling fireflies. I swung my stick only to see those bright sparkles feign a move. I swung the stick again, this time stretching out my hands further. It hit somewhere, followed by a sharp, shrill howl, which made me shudder. The next moment, that wolf retreated, fled. 

I turned to my master. All the firewood I kept near him was on the verge of going off. It must be past midnight. I understood I had fallen asleep moments ago. More than half of those wood pieces, which remained alive as embers, had gone to ashes. The wolf must have come only after that. I blew on a foot-sized stick that remained half burnt and made it burn with flame. I examined my master with the light of the flame from head to foot. The woollen bag in which he was lying was found torn on its left near his leg. Had I been careless even by a couple of minutes, the wolf would have torn open the bag and clasped my master’s legs in its teeth. 

The wood was now fully blown out and only emitted smoke. I scooped out a small amount of frozen kerosene on my fingertip and dropped it on the ember. It caught up with fire again. I went near my master’s face under its brightness and called him mildly, “Ayya.”. My words didn’t fall into his ears. He was sleeping with his mouth open a while ago, but now with his mouth closed. He might have been thirsty or hungry when I fell asleep. I called out to him again, moving his body gently. He lay there without any movement. I checked his breath with the back of my palm. I placed my ear on his chest and tried to hear something from his chest pit. But nothing remained there for my ear to hear.

I wasn’t shocked with the death of my master. I was mentally prepared to accept the worst when I happened to see his body, which once walked on here with its purest form, completely immobile, having lost all his energy even to move his body while allowing urine to trickle down. I would have to relinquish my training in yoga. It took more than three years to find a master like him and oblige him to accept me as his disciple. I wasn’t sure how many more years it would take to find another master of his stature. It remained doubtful anyway. I might meet another master according to the dictates of my destiny. My deepest prayer at that time was nothing other than my master safely reaching Harirambukur without any dangers on the way. Long ago I heard my master telling me that a dying person should be fed with cow milk just before he was about to let out his last breath. Today his words stood completely irrelevant. His words on another occasion that people like him should be buried in a six-foot grave also sounded absurd now. I had already missed offering him cow milk, and now at least he must be buried in six feet of grave. For that, I had to reach down the plains, leaving this rocky mountainous area. He must be buried in six feet of grave covered with big stones instead of sand in order to prevent the wolves from digging his grave out. A wolf from the pack had already sniffed him, and it wouldn’t take much time for the remaining wolves to come for waging attack. 

The ‘under-developed’ moon appeared. I slowly removed the woollen rug bag from his body. My master’s face shone with an unfathomable, splendid peace bearing the resemblance of a person in deep sleep with a solemn countenance if at all no efforts towards checking his breath and heartbeats were ever made. I tore an old cloth and tied his toes together. With another piece of cloth, I tied his hands too. With his single dhoti, I covered his whole body from head to foot, carefully stuffed his remains into the woollen bag, closed it tightly, and waited for the dawn, keeping the embers alive by slowly burning it. I was sitting with my legs folded against my chest, snuggling my face between my knees. By the time the dim rays of the sun appeared in the eastern sky, I saw a two-inch layer of snowflakes around me. When I started towing the wooden plank with my master’s mortal remains in that half-light, I saw something moving behind me. When I looked at it again the second time, it was walking at the same distance. This time the wolf was yelping mildly.

I failed to understand how the dead ones were gaining weight. I could feel dragging the wooden plank with his dead body seemed relatively more difficult than pulling it when he remained laid on it but with breath. The plank moved a little smoothly as long as the snowflakes were sitting on my head in the morning. But before noon, everything dried out completely, leaving one to wonder if at all that place ever received such a heavy snowfall. I was now moving on the descending side of the mountain. Most of the time, I was literally pushing the plank from behind instead of pulling it from the front. It proved an extremely difficult task to drag it with its ever-increasing weight, carefully avoiding it falling into the gorge. As I had drunk the remaining gruel that my master left the previous day, I didn’t feel hungry, though I hadn’t eaten anything after that. It was only my shoulders and waist that ached a lot. I didn’t halt anywhere and was moving with a singular aim in mind that I must reach the plains crossing that hilly terrain before the fall of night. My body remained strong enough to match my mental strength, though it proved insufficient. I had to tread very slowly, one step after another. It seemed the hills kept extending endlessly as I saw them. It would be sufficient if I could manage getting four or five hours of sunlight. It would remain utterly foolish if I were forced to collect the dried twigs again to spend another night by not utilising the available sunlight to the best of my ability. At many places, the rocks were found split open and descended so steeply hundreds of feet down. I could see the plants grown even in that rock bottom. Within the very short span of the journey during that day, I could see the rotten remains, decomposed and limbless bodies of dead animals that might have fallen into that gorge accidentally. 

My ever-increasing tiredness was being compensated by the receding light. My body grew so sensitive that it could feel even the slightest change in the light. Despite the spurt in the efforts of my body, it failed to see the corresponding increase in my speed. I had to try enormously even to drag myself, let alone walk fast. I could see thousands of insects flying in front of my eyes. The journey was left by another two hours. My confidence to cross the mountains before the sun set began waning as the time passed. I would have to stay another snow-falling night again amidst these mountains. Though I didn’t find anything troublesome during the day, the sense of caution once experienced did remain with me. That wolf knew every movement of mine. Now, it wouldn’t definitely come alone.

The plains were visible at a distance. But I couldn’t afford to continue my journey, hoping to reach there now. I carefully placed the wooden plank down on the ground and began searching for dried twigs. I couldn’t find them in sufficient quantity like yesterday. I was one day older than yesterday. I was more tired and weaker than yesterday. I lit the fire with the available wood sticks. I had only four pieces of firewood with me. I lit each one of them and went around my master’s dead body with a burning brand of fire stick. That night too, I saw a steep gorge descending near the place where I halted. There was no creek below at the bottom; it might be running in a different direction. At the bottom of the gorge were thickly grown wild bushes. When I halted my journey yesterday, I wasn’t frightened. It was true that my master couldn’t extend me any assistance with his near-dead body yesterday, which could well mean that I remained alone yesterday as well. But the fright that didn’t engulf my psyche yesterday was now truncating my intellect. All my achievements in life, aims, and bases of my thoughts, desires, and feelings did vanish just like vapor, leaving me with nothing but a singular resolve to bury my master’s whole body with honour in the plains. I was sure that the snowfall would never do any harm to my master’s body, howsoever denser its volume might be. But I was waiting with fear that seemed to have crept into my teeth and bones. I was so attentive as if my body had grown with ears all over. After the thick darkness descended heavily, I didn’t have to wait much to hear the distinct sound that came streaking through the roars of wind I was waiting for. A dense galaxy of fireflies was moving towards me with mild yelps.

Holding a burning wood on one hand and the bamboo pole in another, I was waiting for them to come nearer. My eyes did seem to have learnt to see through that pitch dark. Though they were moving towards me in a group, they formed a circle around us sooner; they came near, about fifteen to twenty yards from us, and began circling, squealing, walking short steps back and forth, and pouncing once ferociously, coupled with fake retreats. The minutes were passing like eons. The circumference of the circle formed by the wolves around us started becoming small inch by inch. Five or six wolves in the pack were fully grown. They circled us, keeping their tails between their hind legs. I stood by my master’s head and swung the burning wood across furiously in all directions. The feeling that the wolves, which I hadn’t come across during the day, were now following us at some distance to attack kept me in a persistent dread. But when I saw them closely, I felt a solemn peace filling in me, and at times I began feeling that I had ceased to think anything. 

My hands were swaying slowly, calmly. The wolves were still pacing in circles around us. It appeared that they were waiting for me to launch the first attack. If there was no pressing situation between us that could prompt any one of us to initiate an attack, the remaining part of that night would remain uneventful, and the wolves would possibly flee at the crack of dawn, I believed.

I was firm in my stand. The controlled yelps of those wolves now seemed to have merged with the silence of the surrounding. They were walking in circles as if they didn’t like to break the rules they had set for themselves even a little by mistake. I started feeling an enormity of love for them. I felt that I had known them for ages. At one point of time, I thought I also joined them and was walking around me in a circle. The burning brand of firewood I was holding in my hand went off suddenly. I swung it fast in the air to produce a flame in it. That time, it looked as if the entire hilly region stopped breathing and stood still. The firewood in my hand completely went off. Dropping it down, I bent down to the fireplace to pick up a fire stick that remained alive in their tips. Hardly was it half a moment; I didn’t hear the snorts of wolves. Within a moment of that gap, a big wolf among them pounced upon me with a deadly roar. I thrust the wood into the wolf’s wide mouth that came straight in front of my face. The wolf withdrew with a meek howl of hurt. Other wolves began tearing off the woollen bag that covered my master’s body. 

The deadly silence and the respect for rules that seemed to prevail there a while ago had now vanished in just a matter of seconds. The wolves attacked me one after another. But they attacked my master’s corpse in packs. I swirled my bamboo pole like a wheel. My shoulder experienced an excruciating pain due to the effect of resistance it received whenever it hit its target. Now the wolves started attacking me in pairs and sometimes in threes. The darkness seemed nearly absent between us. I and wolves were drenched with each other’s blood that kept sprinkling on both of us and falling onto the ground like a sparkling cracker burst after catching fire. 

The wolves didn’t cease their attack, continued panting, pouncing with short steps, biting, getting beaten, withdrawing, and again pouncing on me. That time I could realise one thing—I was making loud noises, frantically screeching, which I would never fantasize about even when I am fully conscious. I had become a terrible animal in that war. Sometimes, we were equally strong for each other. I had become one of those wolves. 

Yet, it couldn’t last for long. A good chunk of wolves was terribly beaten, got maimed, and fled the scene. Only three were posing a challenge. My upper garment was torn in many places and dangling loose with blood stains. The woollen bag in which my master’s body was kept had long been torn into pieces and lay asunder.

One of the wolves, a lonely wolf, kept waging its attack on me tirelessly from different directions without coming under the swings of my bamboo pole. If I swung it below, it would jump off above. If I threw it above, it would slouch its head onto the ground. I was fighting it with all my might and fury as to finish it off. It looked well aware of my moves. I was throwing my blows at it with the love and rancour one would have for his own twin brother. Driven by frantic madness, I started chasing that lonely wolf, completely forgetting where I was standing, my master’s dead body, and other wolves howling around. It fled the spot howling and disappeared into the darkness of the wild. Its yelping didn’t sound like its usual howl; rather, it sounded as if it had fled, affirming its victory over its war with me. The other two wolves were fast sinking their teeth into my master’s dead body and tearing it apart. 

Seeing the gory scene, I shrieked, “Aiyo,” and pounced upon those wolves. Before I could reach them, they dragged his dead body along with them and fell into the gorge. Unable to see it more, I ran to them screaming loudly, “Aiyo…aiyo.”. I stumbled on something; it must be the wooden plank I was dragging to carry my master laid on it. I fell down and became unconscious before I touched the bottom of the gorge. 

When I regained my consciousness, I found a thin layer of snow covering my body. The rays of morning sun were piercing my eyes. I rose with a jolt from my long slumber. The snowflakes fell off my body like a cotton fiber. I peeked into another rift lying at some distance. I ran along its edges, reached its bottom only to see my master’s stomach completely eaten away by the wolves. His head was missing; it seemed severed. The blood that streaked out was found clotted all over his body as if frozen. The piece of cloth used to bind his fingers together was found ripped off. 

The leg of a wolf avulsed along with its shoulder plate from its body was found tightly clasped in my master’s right hand. 

                                                          ***Ended***