Ayurdays 6

These are parts of Ayurdays, which I wrote when I was treated a decade earlier. Now that I am undergoing similar treatment, I blog a few pieces.

A GAME OF CARDS

Playing cards is a usual method of time pass. Three or four patients sometimes sit around a medicine stand and shuffle the cards. Rummy is the favourite game. Played in a relaxed pace, one by one the cards settle in groups of thirteen like the pebbles gathered on the riverbank by little village urchins while waiting idly for their playmates.

The kings and queens and jacks mingle with common numbers and sit in groups waiting to be picked up by a player. The royalty which lost its place in politics now continue their presence in games and jokes. Some simple cards, which gain consequential importance, would start leading the formation of groups in parallel or sequential orders. Players select them through a simple instant process of wishful calculation. In many cases it is just a random selection. Like in a blind act, the player pulls out a card, places it at a suitable end and rearranges the whole hand.

How did a six of clubs or ten of hearts gain such superiority, such a special importance that the player prefers this particular one over the rest? Or does any preference matter at all? Whatever wilful selection the man does is limited to the set of thirteen cards. They are already selected for him. Both the player and his cards are selected and played by some invisible one. The fate[s] of the clubs- six, hearts- ten, the player and even the bystanders are all just some thoughts in a universal mind, some say. Not a casual whim but a part of an all inclusive, all integrated, all considered plan. Not the leela. But a purposeful act. What purpose? Just be sure there is a purpose and it will be revealed to you, they say.

Thirteen cards are grouped at random. About each group sits a man. The fate of this man vis-à-vis this game is decided by the combination of cards in this set. The earlier they fall into a sequential order, the luckier is the player. The application of his ability is limited to the discovery of such orders and the formulation of groups of three and four. Like in an industrial unit of 13 workers; the easier they fall into a productive order, the luckier is the investor. The better the grouping and deployment of the men, the better the profits. Who chooses the men? The investor? Yes Sir, but they are already chosen for him. His choice is limited exactly like the choice of these players. Then what is the difference between work and play?
Then what is the difference between a purposeful plan and wanton leela?

Ayurdays 5

VASTHI
Sreenivasan had a vasthi. Vasthi is sort of an ayurvedic enema in which about 1½ liters of medicated oils and concoctions are pumped into the rectum through the anus using a crude device made of a plastis bag. The bladder of an animal was used in early times. It is a bit risky and the doctor would stay nearby. Sreeni was particularly afraid after Asif had described the whole process in its greatest exaggeration.

By seven in the morning a helper brought a couple of soft idlies with a spot of coconut chutney, the only thing allowed for breakfast. By eight the vasthi had to be performed. Half an hour before that the chief of the team which treats Sreeni came and started the oil massage. Sreeni remained tense and felt uneasy. Then the doctor came to supervise the operation. One of the helpers brought a bucket of warm water. Another carried in the concoction. The fat treatment man mixed the medicines and filled the belly of the device and Sreeni was made to lie down in position. He was held by a couple of helpers with his right leg on the left in a side turned pose. The treatment man warmed up the device. The doctor nodded. The helpers tightened their grip on Sreeni. The nozzle of the device was thrust into the anus. Sreeni tried to wriggle but was held down. In a quick pressing movement, the 1 ½ liters of kashayam mixed with oils was pumped into Sreeni. He felt a strong nausea. But he was held so pressed to the table that no movement was possible. A half cry escaped through the open mouth and he was lifted up. The four men carried Sreeni into the toilet and hoisted him on the European commode, which was fixed on a half-foot platform. There the men held Sreeni till the whole thing flowed down with the pieces of idlies and other leftovers. Thoroughly exhausted, Sreeni started to doze off.

Next he was given a warm water bath, while the helpers applied the green gram powder over him, the chief of the treating team went to the kitchen and brought the gruel. After the bath Sreeni was dried up and brought to the room. There the gruel was mixed with the two and a half tablespoons of ghee, usually provided to the patients after the vasthi.

After he drank up the gruel Sreeni felt so tired that he retired to the bed and groaned. Everything is perfect said the doctor after a customary examination.

Ayurdays 4

MORNING IN THE NURSING HOME

There is a garden here - a patch of ornamental plantation with a few marigolds, tulsis, cockscombs, table roses and everlasting flowers. In the calm of the morning I sit amidst them trying to bring myself to the slow enlightening revelation of another day.

Far to my right, beyond the silk cotton and coconut trees a cock crowed and the morning started. Vannathi, the only black and white bird of Kerala sat somewhere behind our low cost building and sang. A couple of busy crows flew into the south. A lone bee-eater chirped on continuously. Four white cranes flew in formation into the blue above the white long strata of an almost static cloud.

A large dark ant carrying a food load much heavier than himself came close to my feet, smelt something and diverted his course. Two of his friends like conscientious watchmen kept moving about very carefully. A young ill-mannered housefly came and sat on my left shin, looked around and walked up tickling me. The massive sound of a train shook up the whole scene for a while and I shifted position to get a glimpse of the rising sun.

The east horizon is almost covered by a high growth of bamboo shoots. Cashew nut trees line up beyond them. Huge nimbus clouds like shadows of ancient sorrows remain in the background. The golden joy of the daybreak brightens them up. They seem to turn into the passing memory. Behind them is the translucent curtain of morning light. Melting it in a slow smooth process, the sum appears. Bhargo Devasya Dheemati Dhiyo Yona Prachotayat.

The darkness was all that remained in the beginning. All the pasts and futures, the sets of seven worlds, the living and the non-living in them with and without intelligence and the space that contain all that remained as darkness. All that are real and unreal, perceived and imagined, my Lord, everything except You remained as darkness in the beginning. Then you willed, Let there be light. And the sun appeared melting the darkness, the dark ignorance. In the mighty chariot of the seven coloured horses, sitting in the blood red cushion of lotus, holding the varadabhaya signs, Oh! Sun, you come turning the wheels of time. The Suryopanishad says, you are Brahma, Vishnu, Rudra, Ric, Yajur, Sama. From you are born the earth, the air, the light, the intelligence, the organs of perception. You are the sound, the touch, the form and the essence of knowledge. The creator of all and the sustainer of all, Oh! Mighty Sun you dissolve them all in yourself. I bow to you.

Ayurdays III

KIZHI
[This is a part of Ayurdays, a work I did in 1996. I blog it now, because I am undergoing a similar treatment]

Today my treatment took a new turn. Kizhi is the new course. Kizhi means a small bundle. In this a small bundle of shredded leaves, sliced lemons, powdered grains or some such things is heated in oil and the patient is given a massage with it. The one prescribed for me is called navarakkizhi. Navara is a type of paddy with medicinal qualities. Its rice is cooked in medicated milk and bundled in 4 kizhies. They are dipped in boiling milk added with coctions and used in the massage. It is mostly a rejuvenating treatment.

By five in the evening, good old Raman Nair took me to the treatment room. The tub was kept ready with his two assistants waiting in position. I was made to change into the loincloth and the three together hoisted me to the tub. Oil was smeared on my head. Medicated ghee was melted and applied all over my body. Next a man brought the fuming kizhies in a tray and the two assistants started the massage. In a minute the bundles became cool and other two kizhies were brought from the boiling milk.

The rice in the bundles was reduced by one hour and the kizhies became very small. Thick deposits of the rice paste were formed all over my body and the tub. I was made to sit up and the helpers started to remove the paste with coconut leaves cut into small pieces. There after body was wiped with a towel and a fresh coat of oil was applied.

Water, separately boiled for head and the body were kept to cool in the adjacent bathroom. I was led in. Raman Nair wiped away the oil from my head and body. A few mugs of water were splashed and a green herbal paste was smeared all over. With a bath in the medicated water, the day’s treatment was over.

From you, my Lord, the sky was formed. From the sky, the air. From air emerged the fire. From fire came water. From water the land. And in the land grow the herbs. Herbs produce food. Food makes man. So man is the essence of food. Some of it in me had rot. It had to be replaced. So the essence of bala, best of herbs is added with the essence of animals, the milk and best of food, the rice. Drop by drop the thick liquid entered my body. The thin walls of capillaries received it into the blood bypassing the mouth and stomach. It spread to the different parts of the body thus energizing the whole system.

Bala grows on slopes of Western Ghats. As the topsoil gets soaked during the rains and the nutrients of earth are dissolved in water, their powerful roots absorb the most of it. Millions of moth looking leaves sprout, colouring the hillsides in viridian. Between the summer rains, the sun shines in full beam filling the sky with energy. The leaves absorb the most of it, making saps which fill their roots and stems. The tribals collect them. Agents buy them. The medicine factory extracts their strength. The treatment team pumps it into my body.

But paddy being seasonal, the shoots will perish in a few months. The plants pack all that they can in the long hard grains. The farmers collected them. The agents buy them. The hospital extracts their strength and pumps it into my body.

Cows give milk. Generations after generations they have been producing much more milk than their little ones need. Through the times the human civilization got indebted to them for the plain white liquid, which tastes like the mothers milk. The cowherds collected it. The agents buy it. The hospital medicates and pumps it into my body.

From food did all these living forms emerge. By food they live. And to food, my Lord, they return. They become food. Food forms the basis of existence. Food is the basic bond among the living. And through the complex food web, I am bound to the living world. All my parts are. Yet my joints, contaminated and worn out resist the eternal flow of food. That is death. Before the death slowly gains a disastrous control over me, the great physician decided to reinforce the flow. For this he got the essence of all foods, the herbal juice, paddy grains and animal milk, cooked all together and fed me through the little pores of my body. I got up from the tub with added strength.

Ayurdays 2

The Chief Physician
[This is a part of Ayurdays, a work I did in 1996. I blog it now, because I am undergoing a similar treatment]
By eight in the evening, the Chief Physician, respectfully called Thirumeni, clean-shaven, clad in a white dhoti and slacks walked into the compound through the main gate, followed by a retinue of doctors, attendants and the manager. Suddenly a blanket of silence fell over the whole place. Movements were reduced. Unnecessary lamps were switched off. Some kind of an unnatural order spread and the four of us who were sitting in the veranda now withdrew to the dormitory. The procession moved into the first cottage, the one just opposite to the gate.
.* * * * * * * *
After the first room, the procession turns to our cottage. We four wait at the door watching the progress. First the dark doctor in charge of this ward comes with a bundle of case files. His steps are measured and accurate. Just behind him to his left walks an attendant. He has an umbrella hanging from his left shoulder. The golden border of his folded dhoti shines in the yellow light. After a short gap the great Thirumeni comes. A corner of his dhoti is held in his left hand. He is upright. His white slack is immaculately clean. The thick rims of his spectacles add to his seriousness. He stops for a moment gesticulates something with his right hand in an authoritative fashion. Suddenly the manager runs up from behind, bends down a bit to hold his left ear as close as possible to the great man’s lips yet keeping the two feet distance commanded by caste rules and shakes his whole head. Four others behind him make a small crowd. The manager murmurs something to them. The shortest among the group hurries to the gate.

Now the Thirumeni enters the garden path. The marigolds bend down as if a strong wind passes. Most of the short plants along the path suddenly fold up their leaves and the great man walks in slow majestic strides.

At the doorstep he stops. Looks straight. The whole building turns around a little and adjusts itself to facilitate his entry. All the lights burn as if someone has switched them on. And the great man is with us in the room.

Two large strands of gray hair neatly fall on his broad forehead. His quick eyes focus on my face for a moment. It is a flash. He turns to Asif and jokes something. Then he snatches a case sheet from the doctor, comments on a few empty columns tightens his lips and stands silently, thinking something. A smile appears slowly and he becomes a close friend enquiring about the food in the canteen, the taste of the medicines and making light remarks on Sreeni’s dialect and Prabhakar’s restlessness. The doctor who is perusing a case file walks a few steps, waits for a while and asks something. The great man turns serious again, looks far away into the darkness outside the window and answers in solemn gravity without shifting his gaze.

The nerves and veins and tissues of each patient take shape in front of his eyes. Bones and muscles twitches. Juices and fires of the body become visible through the transparent skins. Even the minute malfunctioning, the little toxic afflictions become clean to his probing eyes. Discerning knowledge accumulated through many generations surface in his mind. In an extra ordinary process of cross matching an illness with its remedy, the secret cognitive faculty brings out a plan of treatment, the complete course that is needed in the extermination of an illness. Very kindly he dictates the treatment. The doctor in charge of the ward takes it down and he moves on to the next patient.
After the world was created and man appeared, the diseases flourished. Then by two letters the Aswini Devathas were raised. They were the deities of all cures. From them through the rishis the techniques of cure reached a few. Thirumeni is one of them. May God keep him well.

Ayurdays 1

PIZHICHIL
It is an old method of oil bathing in which I would be laid flat on a special wooden tub and four men would pour warm oil on me continuously for about a hour and a half. Two others would operate the stove and pass on the vessels of heated oil.
It indeed is great that my whole body is rendered in shatters left to the medicines to react and reform, form back into shape in the rhythm of this mantra, slow, steady and sure like the rhythm of the stars, the sun, the moon, the air, the water and everything that is made and unmade, broken into shatters and reformed into shape like my fifty kilos of body matter left to the medicines to react in an oil tub.
Entering into the tub is done as a ritual. My wedding ring and golden chain were removed already. I had clean shaved my armpits and removed the pubic hair before starting from home. I am ready for a new growth – a changed healthy growth.
Raman Nair, the good old head nurse in charge of me came bouncing with a paper packet. See if they all suitable. If not we can get them changed. I opened the packet. Two loin clothes and two towels and a sachet of washing powder. We will need it he said. Get ready. Remove your underwears and come. I shall light the stove. Shortly his four assistants came with bottles and tins. Different types of medicated oils and ghees are mixed in prescribed proportion before heating. It is all done in the treatment room. Asif calls it the workshop. There is the special tub there adjusted at table height. Stoves, stands, racks, basins and handing ropes all covered with a strong odour of oils make the place look odd, something of some other era.

Two of the assistants, one with a bearded smile and other a dumb heavy weight, come to my bed and walked me to the workshop. I took Rs.101/- and held it tightly in my right fist. The other assistants came forward, removed my clothes, tied a loincloth around my waist and made me stand in position. I bent down and touched the wrinkled feet of the old Raman Nair and thrust the money into his hand. It is dakshina, a token of acceptance. Sir, I submit myself to you. Do as you feel fit and bring me health. I place my faith with this token money. Lets start. The leader seemed satisfied. The whole team came forward and helped me to the tub.

Once I was seated, the old man took a handful of oil, closed his eyes and prayed murmuring the name of all the local gods. Thereafter like a solemn ceremony smeared the oil over my head. Next the four others adjusted my position and kept the vessel-stands on the sides of the tub. A piece of unbleached cloth was torn into four. Each helper took a piece and dipped it in the warm oil. Raman Nair made a slight nod and the process started.
Streams of warm oil flowed down my body. The medicated molecules of the fatty liquid in accelerated motion found their way through the little pores of my skin, which usually discharged sweat. In the sudden heated onslaught the poor sweat glands were stunned into inaction. The warm oil had entered through the ducts, filled the little cavities and created a special situation of minute pressure, which made a sort of dermatological chaos. In the micro-milieu, these molecules delivered the required medicines into the tissues, the glands and the blood. The helpers mildly massaged the muscles facilitating the process. Slowly by slowly the level of oil in the tub rose up, the level of oil in my body rose up, the level of oil in the blood vessels rose up, the level of oil rose up around and many of my cells started floating in oil. The thin cell walls tried in vain to withstand the pressure but gave up tired. And the oil got osmosed into them threatening the very adamant toxic things, which caused me pain and agony. Right from the cells, the whole body was thus getting reshaped into a healthier unit.

First of all it was all water. From water did everything emerge, says the text. From water did emerge the long carbonated molecules entwined into strands, which formed the basis of life. From water did emerge the little lively cells, which swarm around in clusters forming columns and groups, which later migrated into the air and land. From water did emerge the Piscean creatures, which made the deep swinging dives into the oceans of air and got their fins changed into wings. From water did emerge the animals, which made the land their hatching place for the land itself had hatched out of the seas. From water did emerge the plants, the clouds and all that constituted the life.

The essence of water was still left in the plants and animals as the thick liquids. Some in me had got contaminated. So the great physician decided to extract the essence of water from seeds in the form of oil, purify it and add those little parts of corrective substances as medicines and pout it into my body. The little particles of herbs and chemicals, prescribed by Sushruta and Vagbhata now entered into my cells and changed their configurations avoiding the un-needed.

Thus from oil did emerge the reshaped cells, rejuvenated tissues, the reformed body. After the treatment the helpers wiped the whole body and I came back to the room to put on a set of fresh clothes on me. The whole room and outside looked so fresh and nice. The world, as Raja Rao said, is of course fit to live. Thank the Lord for it.

Students Strike in RCE Mysore

This is about Regional College of Education, Mysore, later morphed into the now famous RIEM. I visited the site www.riemaa.com , a product of last years alumni meet. Somewhere I saw a notice of this years meeting, on May 10th or so. A gone date, sorry. But I am truly happy that RIEM has established its identity.

The last Alumni meeting I attended was held under the guidance of eminent Mr. Varma, our long time staff advisor. The man was an ultimate in student management, very diplomatic with some blue blood in his veins which showed in all his actions. The man is no more. Just a digression for BGV.

We were gheraoing The Principal, Prof. Govinda Rao. Remember the man in cream suit walking in right angles. He would never cross the cricket field because it meant gross indiscipline. We had to shut down our transistors, unplug our iron boxes and restrict the use of geysers. And we could never accept the man spying us, young men and women. So we thought to teach the great man a little lesson. We made cartoon posters in Krishna hostel and stuck them along the roads by two at night.

By eight next morning the entourage of peon-clerk-caretaker-Principal-his son and personal assistant with the flask was stopped by the water tank by a few seniors. Soon the crowd swelled into a hundred and more. Prof. Rao tried to argue something and looked sullen. All of us just sat down silently on the newly tarred road. Every one knew what is happening, but none had thought it would be so soon. The great man who was so much respected that the B.Tech. Eds went one by one and touched his feet before every exam was now standing awkwardly in a crowd of squatting students who waited eagerly for his words. He said something like ‘inform my family’ and sat down. The caretaker, clerk and peon sat. PA was allowed to slip with the boy.

As was planned, lemon juice was served to everybody. Being in the second year, I was sort of an errand boy. With all the respect, we offered The Principal a glass of juice, but the man refused. So we went to his Qtr. No. 4, to inform his wife and get the flask. Mrs. Rao was considerably happy to receive us. We tried to speak to her in Kannada. She thought gherao was sort of a seminar. “Why do you want majka from here? Don’t you serve anything there?” We said we will serve him lunch too. We were afraid to spread panic in the family. His son also seemed happy. Why should we inform him that his father was facing some of his most humiliating moments?

Back at the spot the crowd was growing unmanageable. The staff were generally baffled and did not react. It was almost nine and getting hot. Prof. Rao started wiping his sweat and the peon started to fan him. We had no intention to sweat him out. And he refused the fruits we offered. Some went to get tender coconuts. Meanwhile we contacted BGV. The man arrived riding his fantabulous and stopped near the clinic. “Move him to the shade” said the commanding voice. “And stop it soon. In case the old man faints, you will be in real soup”. How to end it was the concern. BGV had a solution. Call Dr. U.R. Ananthamurthy, the cult figure of the campus, who had recently left for a post in the University.

URA came and made a ‘Friends, Romans….’ thing ending in “Sir, won’t you be a little more lenient?” The Professor shook his head and agreed to drink coconut water, provided it is poured into a glass washed in front of him. He will not mind the boys and girls going together to the canteen or playing the transistor if it did not consume electricity which was swallowing all funds. The college was reeling under a crunch in finances. It was the making of another Rao, the venerable VKRV Rao who had vowed to see that the college is ruined. In July 1969, during the inauguration of Ganga, he said “ Your Principal, [Miss Chari] being a sweet mannered lady can get funds for this white elephant. What use have these kind of institutions when millions in the country have no black boards and chalk pieces?” Back in Delhi, he scrapped the Home science Ed first. All dish washers and washing machines of American brands went silent and the attendants used the aprons to dust furniture. Next B.Com.Ed and B.Tech.Ed were closed down. When the axe came down on B. A. Ed, URA left. However the course continued for some more time.

It was half past eleven when the strike was over. We decided to celebrate with a common lunch. We went to Cauvery, the ladies hostel and the girls welcomed us in jubilation. They started pointing out each window, this is hers and that is mine and so on. They crowded around us and it was tough to carry the sambar and rice. The kitchen hands helped us. The rest of the day was spent in groups and pairs.

Soon it was exams time. PSF II was the paper in which they decided to fail the leaders. About 14 of the fourth years were victimized. Many of them did not have any major part in organizing the event. I was in charge of issuing guest passes to them next year when they came to clear the arrears. Most of them were sorry that their trust was misplaced by someone in the Education Dept.

Well, BGV continued to be the benign factor in students matters. At least thrice he tried forming an OSA, but the continuity was lost. Prof. Balaji and Mr. Chandrasekhar IPS of ’71 batch had helped him. They can form a link between the old and new avatars of the alumni association. May the RIEMAA succeed in its aims.