A Musing Morning Walk

After a long spell of physical inactivity owing to certain other commitments, a few days ago I strolled out for my morning walk. It was past seven and already getting warm. As I turned back to walk home down  the slight slope I saw a man , perhaps in his middle fifties, wearing a saffron dhoti and towel round his shoulders, carrying a stick with some piece of cloth knotted and spread at the top end, like Adhi Shankara, and a bag slinging down on one side, and  a small bundle of clothes on his head was coming in front.  His entire body was marked with the Vaishnavite religious mark – the trident mark with a saffron line drawn in the middle of a white U—I do not remember whether there was an extension down the U, changing it into a Y.  He had a fortnight old gray beard and his head covered with a loose cloth tucked in at the ears. I could hear him singing or mumbling something, as he walked.

 When the mendicant came up to me he stopped to ask for something; before he could open his mouth I shoved my hand into the pocket searching for some coins. He waved his hand, shook his head, and took a step backward as if horrified, and said, “ I don’t ask for money; not a beggar. I am a Gnaani. I don’t take any paisa as alm . .  . [even as he was speaking I got the fear of my life, and wondered if I had offended him, or got entangled in some unwanted argument with a maniac] I am Gnaani. I am on my pilgrimage to all temples where Lord Vishnu resides.  I have walked over thirty thousand  miles, north and south.  I was an engineer employed at Bangalore. I belong to Kaattu Mannar Koil  and am coming from there.  Yesterday evening I reached Cheyyar from the southern side, and had to stay at a Murugan temple on the bank of the river Cheyyar. I asked a boy to buy me food.  It was awful. I threw it to the dogs.”  He gave me no time to talk or interrupt. “ We Gnaanis go about singing in praise of Vishnu and keep telling stories about Vishnu we read in Puranas . . .”  I took bold and said, “ Yes I know Kaattumannar Koil; the place where Manavaala Maamuni lived. I have even visited the temple once twice”   His jaw dropped in awe and said, “ You have known about Manavala Maamuni! How great !”

Then he told me the purpose of  his stopping me. He simply wanted to know the way to Arcot, and the distance he had to travel. He asked me if I had known the Perumal temple at the outskirts of the town where he proposed to spend the night.  I told him “Yes” and assured him he could easily reach there on foot before nightfall. He said, “Thanks “ and continued his walking tour.

Now something pricked me from inside. Should I not have given him at least twenty or thirty rupees {in fact, I had some paper currencies with me then); he was after all a guest to our town; and  particularly when I remembered that he did not have a good meal the previous night?  I had walked my way a short while. I stopped and looked back   I could hear his voice reciting something. Because we were walking in opposite directions the distance had  increased. I wanted to stop him to give him some money, and to know his name. During the hesitation the distance has doubled, yet he could be seen far. I lingered and even thought I could hitchhike on a two- wheeler to him and walk back home. Incidentally I had a digital camera in my pants pocket. I could even now reach him and take a snap. Indecision increased the distance. I felt the passage of time started telling on my tummy. I even sported with the idea of taking my car and catching him up on his way, hand the money and if he agreed (I knew he wouldn’t) take him in my car and drop him at the entrance to Arcot near Delhi Gate.

He fell into the blind spot. But the memory lingered. Would he have relished the comparison to Aadhi Shankara?  Something told me he was a Jesuit-like devotee of Vishnu still pursuing Bhakti marga. He has a long way to go before he could become a Gnaani.