Meeting the Diviner

They stood behind him, this family of six grown ups and a six year old child. Him, was a wiry thin and tall man, salt and pepper hair neatly parted and flattened with oil. Coconut oil, as anyone within arm's distance would know by smell. His pristine white half sleeved shirt and dhoti highlighted his dark skin tone. He stood straight, unmoving and seemed to stare at the hole in the rocks facing him.

They were in front of a cave half way up a hillock in the rural countryside. A crescent shaped cave with a wide open mouth and a flat base, barely four feet in depth. They had had to get off from their van at the fields below and climb the rest of the way. They followed him, trying to keep pace, not knowing what lay in store ahead. It had been a rough climb and they were out of breath. Why had this man brought them here?

He had not uttered a single word in the last hour. And before that, all he had said was 'Come with me, my grandfather has called you'. And hastily ushered them into the van and instructed the driver by merely pointing towards the hillock on the other side of the paddy fields. They were confused and apprehensive. His grandfather? The Diviner and soothsayer of local folklore in these parts of the state? He had been dead for about half a century at least!

It was 2001. They were on a week long road trip down memory lane, this family of six and a half. Parents in their seventies, carting three of their four off-springs - two sons and a daughter, and one daughter-in-law and a grandson, away from the city and into the small towns and interior villages, in an effort to introduce the next generation to the days of their own childhood. The father's in particular. He had been excited at the prospect of travelling these roads again, retracing his way back to his roots. I am the daughter-in-law and my husband - the eldest son.

He, the father, had grown up in a small village in south of India. A tiny village in fact, it had about thirty row houses, all neatly lined on both sides of the only street in that village. The front door and a small sit out platform made up the entire width of every home. The houses extended inside seemingly endless, somewhat like the inside of a train. The front door opened into a passage with large rooms on either side, the passage itself leading all the way from entrance to the backyard, typically providing a view of the well at the rear of the house, to anyone on the street in front. The nearest small town was an hours' drive away.

A few months before, the father had reconnected with a childhood neighbour, one he had played marbles with as a kid. This man was one of the few permanent residents of the village, he had never lived anywhere else. Someone whose whole world began at one end of it's solitary mud flattened street and ended at the other end of the same street.

They had corresponded by writing letters that took a week to be delivered to each other. And that is how the fathers' long cherished dream of visiting the place had become a plan, a trip that could happen. Arrangements were made for the family to stay for a couple of days in the local priests' house. The priests' wife and teenage daughter would take care of the food and other domestic requirements. He had also arranged for a local man about forty-five years of age, who had grown up in the village and knew the place well, to play Guide. The grandson of the Diviner.

Their Guide had met them and showed them around the village and the nearby holy as well as scenic places. The presence of city folk travelling in a van that consumed the entire width of their main street inspired delight and admiration in the villagers. The rustic children tended to keep their eyes peeled on these modern and fashionably dressed people, who spoke fluent English most of the time, though they knew the local language too. For them, it felt like glamorous film stars had descended onto their street. Hopefully, some of the stardust would fall on them and change their lives!

That nothing much had changed in the village in at least fifty years, was matter of pride and thrill for the father. He took his family to the house he had lived in as a child. He pointed to the wooden pillar within the house and remembered his mother deliver one of his siblings at that very spot. He walked around house to house, enquiring about the whereabouts of the people who once lived there. He wandered off to the far end, in search of the little stream he used to bathe in. His family dutifully trooped behind him everywhere he went and shared his exhilaration. Their's was momentary and short-lived, unlike his, which stayed with him in the form of an ever present smile on his face.

The Guide had insisted that they visit an old shrine situated on a nearby hill. It had a lot of 'power' he had said. They went, not knowing what else to do. The temple had been modernised, there were concrete steps leading upwards. Electric lights lined the way. In honour of the unusual troop, the temple administration played devotional songs which blared through the speakers placed strategically along the steps. The loud music did little to elevate their sense of spiritualism, disturbed their feeling of joy and wonder, in fact. The family members walked at a leisurely pace, with the younger ones walking ahead and the senior elderly members trailing behind.

At the top of the hill, there were stone shrines dedicated to the different Gods and Goddesses, some of the sculpted figurines and other relics out in the open and some within small stone temples. The family was scattered among these, each exploring the ancient site on their own. Their Guide was with the eldest son, my husband.

They had looked around the ancient stone temple and were lingering at the last of the small shrines, when he suddenly stopped, became oddly still and looked away into the distance. It was a few seconds before my husband sensed the change. The man's eyes turned steely and grey, quite loosing the distinct shapes and colours of the eyeball and pupil. He walked to a tree a few feet away and stood there, still looking towards at the same direction. The others were some distance away.

The Guide walked back to the son, appearing disoriented and said 'Come with me, my grandfather has called you' and started running down the steps. The son followed, unsure of what to make of the turn of events. The family members scattered around, were instructed to turn around and head back downwards, in sign language by the Guide, and in words by the eldest son.

Half walking, half running, they got back into the van and sat in silence as it that headed towards the hillock beyond the rice fields. The father, was wondrous now. A firm believer in the power of the ultimate force, he remembered seeing the Diviner when he was a young child. He had distinct memories of seeing him levitate in cross legged sitting position. He remembered him cure an ailing woman by touch. He now believed that the Diviner still existed. And he himself was that blessed soul who was going to be granted a surreal vision of HIM. After all, in his youth, he had been cured of a debilitating spine injury by the Diviner himself.

The sons and daughter had heard their father tell these stories often. They had unthinkingly, believed the tales, having grown up in a household steeped in godly beliefs and religious rituals. Later in life, higher education, exposure to different view points, and travel around the globe had taught them to think scientifically. Their fathers' tales always had their due place of respect in their hearts. Until now. Could those seemingly mystical people and events be true?

The daughter-in-law [me] was sceptical. She preferred to stick to logic and rationale. She did believe in the presence on a greater force that was responsible for the creation of life. Her discomfort was [still is] in the use the the terms 'Religious' & 'Spiritual'. These words get used rather loosely, she thought, mostly they actually meant 'Ritualism'. This bumpy ride on dirt tracks to meet someone who would be about 120 years old now, going by her father-in-law's description, wasn't making sense.

The six year old, wondered why his mother couldn't have carried along his toy cars from their home. He could have played with them in the van. He was constantly being told to look out of the window instead.

The Guide, the Diviner's grandson, stepped into the cave. He lit a few incense sticks and fixed them to a single ripe banana, so they would stay straight and burning. He sat cross legged at the inner end of the cave, closing his eyes, he bent his head and joined his palms in silent prayer. The family watched. After a while, tired, they sat down, a few members at the mouth of the cave, a few on the rocks and boulders facing the cave, the kid on a rock above it. It was dusk. There was daylight still and yet everything around seemed to dim in the feeble glow of the setting sun. The world around was becoming silent. They were far away from the settlements below.

They all heard a strange sound. The man moved jerkily. He lifted his head and looked at the dark inner portion of the cave. He lay down on his stomach and stretched himself to his full size, his feet jutting outside the cave floor. And started crawling towards the inner dark area and almost immediately, his head moved downwards and disappeared! It was only then that the family noticed a round narrow hole, about a foot in width at the far end. The man was crawling into it! The family watched in silent amazement.

Gradually his head disappeared altogether, then his neck, his shoulders, his outstretched arms, chest and most of his waist also moved out of sight. Only his hips and legs were visible now, the upper portion of his body bent downwards into the dark hole. The movement stopped.

It seemed unnaturally still and quiet around. Even the birds and the gentle breeze had fallen silent.

The man made a gurgling sound. Coming from the depths of the stony cave bed, it sounded eerie and dangerous. The noises continued. There were two voices now. One from the man they could only see half of. Gradually, the sounds became clear and distinct. It sounded like a conversation. A conversation in Tamil. Between the Guide and one other person. A man. The Guide informed the other person of their presence, the family understood this much.

The conversation that continued, switched to another language and so did the voice of the second person. The voice was now nasal and twangy . Not a language that any of the family members knew. 'Chinese'? 'Japanese'? They looked wide-eyed at each other and whispered. The conversation sounded a like a regular one initially, though the family understood nothing of it. Gradually, much to their alarm, it seemed to get animated and loud. And stopped almost as abruptly as it had begun. No-one and nothing seemed to move. Silence was a sound.

The Guide slithered out of the hole, sat up on the rocky cave floor and looked at them, the father in particular. 'My grandfather conveyed his happiness to have your family here. There is nothing to worry about. All will be well.' He said.' I asked my grandfather when I could also join him in his heavenly abode. I was told that it wasn't my time to transcend to the other world yet.' He added with a tinge of regret.

'It has become dark, we should climb down the hill quickly' he said. 'there are wild animals in this area. They go out into the fields after dark and attack the villagers and eat cattle'. The hurried walk down the hill and the ride back to the father's village went by in a daze.

The family did speak about it over the next few days. Their conversations were along the lines of 'What really happened?' 'Do you think the Diviner really lives in that hole?' 'How did he know we were in this village now?' “Can we really believe that we had a brief brush with a Master soul?' 'Is it possible for humans to have conversations with departed souls?'.......

Plenty of questions. No answers.

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Originally published in 2016