Samsara by Saksham Garg

Author:Saksham Garg [Garg, Saksham]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9789354924385
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2022-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

17

Airavata

Ninda, Stuti, Haan aur Labh

(Chastisement, Compliments, Harm and Gain),

Ek samaan jo rehta hai

(the One who is unaffected),

Vo yogi Prabhu ka pyara hai

(is the yogi loved by the Omniscient).

Thoughts of the cardboard box in Sanaka’s hut consumed Aman’s thoughts. He was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. It was no longer an escape route that he fixated on—he had to know his father’s story. For that, he had to stay put in Vanyasa.

When he woke up the next morning, he soaked in the tweeting of birds and the veena music floating in the air. Even the cut on his lip was starting to heal. The nausea persisted, however. On the bright side, the circadian chores were effortless as luck was by his side. He pondered over what Chitra had told him—the universe did seem to be conspiring in his favour. He started to revel in his newfound gift.

Aman went to Pandayam Tal and drew water for a bath. But an irrational itch urged him to do otherwise, so he set aside the filled matkas and left early for breakfast.

Upon entering Aahaar, he saw that there wasn’t much real food—just mounds of something red and chewy in the larger earthen pot. The other vessel held a curry with pebble-like mounds in it. He was about to leave, stomach still empty, when he overheard something interesting.

Sanaka had skipped breakfast. Not willing the specially cooked items to go to waste, the cooks saw Aman standing at the food counter and asked him if he was interested. So Aman walked to the sitting mat with the biggest smile on his face, carrying a plate laden with honey-dipped bananas, almonds, apple slices, jaggery and cooked sorghum.

When he returned to Pandayam Tal and his matkas, Aman found them hot to the touch as the sun had been shining heavily on them. He enjoyed a rare warm shower. There was no such thing as a calendar in his possession, and he had little idea then that the cold winds of Pausha were around the corner.

Later that day, in Gurukul, Aman was delighted when Savitri’s ample form came and sat right in front of him, blocking him from Acharya Ashwini’s view. The teacher had a habit of picking on Aman when asking questions.

That day, the acharya told his students about the impending winter: ‘Assaulting winds are due to roll in from the peaks. In these times, the value of tolerance and the ability to control your body heat cannot be stressed enough. Don’t forget, the journey lies within. You must know what it takes to conjure up the deepest of controls, meditate and, most importantly, seize command of your dress.’

Dress? What dress? Aman looked at the acharya through the gap in Savitri’s bent elbow.

Acharya Ashwini continued, ‘We are not our body. We are only the soul.’ The teacher touched his forehead. ‘But this,’ he said with eyes closed, his index finger delicately covering his wrist to indicate his body, ‘is merely a dress.’

Aman had started ascribing

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