MY PRE-SCHOOL YEARS - 2

During my childhood, the oldest member of my family was Great Grandma. She must have been past 80 when I was born and she was almost confined to her room.

Great Grandma was not the mother of my Grandpa. My Grandpa's mother had passed away before I was born and I had never heard her mentioned in conversations.

Great Grandma was the mother of my Grandpa’s cousin brother. When I was only about 3 years, I used to have a reluctant nap in the afternoon in her room. The nap was forced on me by an accident.

We had gone to one of our relatives for some function, a traditional family festival. This festival was in the night and there was a feast and there were umpteen relatives attending this. I think I was about 3 years and had a good time playing with many children of the same age.

The morning after, we the children started the day from where we left off the previous night and were running around in the courtyard. There were two huge firepits where the firewood is burnt for cooking the food. The big cooking utensil, usually varying between 50 to 500 liters in volume are kept over three stone supports kept in a triangular formation around a pit. The pit would have burning coke from the burnt wood, deceptively embedded in ashes for days after the feast is over. And while running around and playing, I managed to trip and fall into this pit. Till another child went and informed the elders and my mother came running and lifted me out, I was sort of being slowly baked on my right side.

What stands out in the whole episode is while falling, my shoulder sort of rubbed the stone and apart from burn, I also had a wound there. After coming back to our house, I remember being treated by an old lady from the village - Madhavi, her name was - with a herbal oil, concocted by her. The treatment went on for an unbelievably long time, - as far as I could feel, for ever - and all the while I had to lie down on my left side and couldn't move much. The good point was that I became sort of listening companion to my great grandmother, who kept on telling me stories from epics like Mahabharata, Ramayana, Bhagavatha etc., stories about practically everything you can think of in life, stories about the villainous and virtuous, about bravery and cowardice, about truth and lies etc. etc. Probably that was the earliest pre-school education I got and must have had an impact on my thinking later in life.

Just for the records, when I was able to get up and start moving a little, I managed to scrape my wound on one of the pillars in the main central courtyard and as it was healing well and a good crust was being formed, got totally opened up and started bleeding profusely. The treatment restarted and continued for another few months, before I was up and about.

Thanks to Madhavi, there was no scar anywhere on my body except where I scraped my wound. She would look at me, shake her head disapprovingly and say,

‘I wanted to make sure that you had no burn mark on your body, but you spoiled the whole show by going and getting stuck with that pillar.’

‘Well, it is the fault of that pillar to stand right where I was running!’, I would tease her.

Coming back to the story sessions with Great Grandma, my young mind encountered many contradictions in some of the stories and she in her wisdom used to explain some of those issues very clearly. One day she was telling the story of  King Mahabali and Vamana. I asked her why an excellent ruler and virtuous person like Mahabali was sent to Netherworld by Vishnu. Wasn’t it unfair? She replied that Mahabali anyway had to go to Paataal and rule there before he was elevated to be Indra in next Manuantara. So actually sending him to Paataal was not a punishment. Similarly she had explained many stories with meaning and purpose which at least at that time, had satisfied me.

I enjoyed those story sessions very much. I would reciprocate with warmth, and used to recite Vishnu Sahasranamam (verse containing 1000 names of Lord Vishnu) to her every day in the evening, a session which both of us enjoyed very much.

Achu, son of one of our maids, was a good companion during those days and I used to play with him quite a lot. He was the one who gave me basic lessons in swimming secretly, taking me to the family pond, holding me and coaxing me to flap my hands and legs correctly for floating. He used to be a strong kid, had loved me so much that he used to lose to me in games, just for the sake of satisfying my ego.

The day he took me to learn swimming for the first time, he was scolded and beaten up and was banned from seeing me again. The next couple of days, I was so miserable and finally, it was Great Grandma who intervened and allowed me to play with Achu again. Even now I remember what she had said to nobody in particular.

‘Let Kunchu learn all that he wants. He should fall down and get hurt a little, while growing up. Don't be too soft and spoil him.' - Kunchu was the pet name for me and practically everybody in the house called me Kunchu.

I must have been about 4 when Great Grandma passed away. That was the first time, I had seen a death in the family. I experienced what the death of Great Grandma meant to me and how much I missed being with her in those story sessions.