[ramanuja] God’s Children - by a 15 year old girl - Supraja Seshadri

[Pattangi <danp@xxxxxxx>]

sri:

I would highly recommend devotees to read this narrative story by this 15 
year old  girl: Supraja Seshadri.
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God?s Children

Sweat was crawling slowly from my forehead, along my cheeks to the edge of my 
lips where it spread quickly along the parting.  I could taste the salt of my 
labor.  The last seed was planted, the last sack carried and the last moments 
of the day turned to night.  The sun was starting to hide behind the mountains 
in the distance as I flopped down onto the earth.  My mother earth, my India, 
my home.  The fields were the only place where I felt more welcome, more real 
and closer to my land.  Letting all the peace of the evening air sink in me, I 
pulled my small brown, tattered bag and with the last of my energy managed to 
start walking home.

My house wasn?t very far.  It was quite near the fields, away from the higher 
caste people.  I could hear the temple bell ringing as I walked down the narrow 
dirt path lined with palm trees.  The temple was quite famous for ?Ranganatha?, 
a popular form of Lord Vishnu, giving the district its name: Srirangam.  People 
from all over south India would come just to see his rich black figure decked 
with gold, lying majestically on a coiled five headed snake called Adi Sesha.  
But it was beauty that I could see only in my dreams.  The look of pure, 
absolute divinity in his lotus-petal shaped eyes.  The solid black stone carved 
with such precision, outlining his sharp features.  His nose in a straight 
angle, his thin lips together in a perfect mountain-like curve with just a 
subtle, knowing smile.  Just below, his small rounded dimple chin.  His chest 
broad and his stomach tight, both bare covered in only gold necklaces lined 
with various gems.  His arms with armlets and bangles, his fingers together 
showing a perfect palm.  His legs straight, draped in a white silk cloth, a 
border of just simple gold once again.  His feet and toes in perfect 
proportion, each smaller than the first.  There he would lie, just perfect.  

My family and I as well as the others who lived in our area, couldn?t enter the 
temple.  We couldn?t even be around it to tell you the truth.  The caste system 
in the Hindu religion was made only as a division in work and labor.  The 
highest in the system are the Brahmins.  Brahmins are the priestly ones, quiet 
and studious they say.  Next come the Kshatriyas who are princely and 
energetic.  After that are the Vaisyas who are apparently ?impelled by desire?. 
 Last is us, the Sudras.  People don?t even consider us to be in the caste 
system.  When passed by any other caste member, you can smell the air of pride 
around them, and a negative vibe sent off, making you feel very undeveloped 
compared to them.  We may not be wealthy to attend school, but we know the way 
of life, and how to produce food.  The Brahmins are considered the spiritual 
power, the Kshatriyas secular power, the Vaisyas economic power, and again us 
Sudras- the labor power.  I remember the days when I was a kid; I would stand 
in the street corner and watch all the Brahmin children playing fun, various 
games until I was chased off by some adult.  The atmosphere around the streets 
surrounding the temples itself is a change.  A feeling of complete devotion 
takes over you, pulling you towards it, but as soon as it calms the mind 
someone will chase you off.  

So, the caste system was started just for the separation in the jobs, starting 
from the priests to the laborers.  This slowly transformed into a minute form 
of racism.  Because of peoples? false pride and their discrimination, they said 
we ?polluted? their areas.  I bow my head to them, but as they pass I hear them 
muttering that we are God?s feet.  Well, God?s feet are where everyone is 
wishing to reach anyway when they attain salvation or ?moksha?.  If we are 
already the feet? A sigh of deep sadness covered me like a blanket as I entered 
my humble home.
My children ran to me as I sat on the mat on top of the earth floor inside the 
house.

?It happened again today father!? the younger one, Andaalu, cried.  I looked 
into her dark brown eyes as they welled up with tears, her face covered in sand 
and mud, her thick black hair spilling all over the place in curled locks.
?When I asked them if I could play, the pushed me away and threw sand in my 
hair.?  She started with her soft sobs.  I knew exactly how she felt.  It 
happened to me when I was a child, when all the other children would simply 
think they were better.  It happened to my wife as well, and my parents, their 
parents and so on.  In her eyes I saw the reflection of my own anger.  There 
was nothing I could do though.  If we adults didn?t have power, how would the 
children?
?Don?t worry child,? I said, stroking her hair.  ?One day will come when we 
will be allowed to play with them, when we will be allowed to go to school, and 
most importantly when we will be allowed to enter the temple of Ranganatha.?  
My older son, Maaran, stood in the corner, simply listening as I hugged my girl 
tightly.  We all knew our social status and what work had to be done.  We 
stayed away from other people and mingled with our own kind, even having fun 
sometimes, sitting around a fire in the late evening and talking through the 
night with all the families in our area.  Occasionally though, it would hit us 
that we were not given the same opportunity as others and some of us only grew 
more upset, while others filled with rage.  A day will come?

I told my children a day would come just for us, not in the true belief that it 
would, only in the slight hope.  I told them to soothe them for the moment, as 
any father should do.  Still, I did not expect this day to come so fast.  I 
remember it clearly though, around year 1063 (AD), in the month of June, it 
happened.  We all heard of Sri Ramanuja before, a famous saint who was teaching 
the opposite of the philosophy of Sri Shankaracharya, or something like that.  
It was too complex for us to learn what he was doing even if we had the chance, 
but we thought he was like everyone else, sticking with only their castes.  

We were wrong.  I stepped out of my house, as usual, as the sun was rising and 
folded my sleeping mat made of straw.  Maaran did the same behind me, and then 
tapped my shoulder.  I turned to see his face, jaw open, eyes wide.  I followed 
his eyesight and there outside was a sage surrounded by all the Sudras in our 
community.  We ran quickly to the group and gathered with them, not knowing 
what to expect.  No sage or Brahmin had ever been this close to us.  He was 
speaking to all of them, in a calm voice.  

??Everyone is equal.  You are all just the same as me and the rest.?  He said.  
His eyes met mine, I could see a sparkle in them and a wave of excitement ran 
through my body.  He continued, his back against the sun, creating a halo-like 
glow around his head and bare torso.  
?When we pass away, and reach moksha, we will serve the God-Head.  We will 
become his hands and feet.  Everyone aims to reach his feet, and if all of you 
are already feet then you?re in the right place.?  There! Exactly what I was 
thinking, I thought it was just me, but I was right.  My mouth opened in 
complete happiness.  Everyone was starting to murmur amongst themselves.

?The caste distinctions in the Hindu religion were made only for the different 
roles we play in contributing to our society.  I am aware of the treatment you 
are given by some higher caste members.  Our bodies and appearances may be 
different, but our souls are one and the same.?  He continued.  He held the 
people in front of the crowd and pulled them forward.  

?Tiruk Kulattar,? He said.  ?You are God?s children.?  We all cheered, happy 
and full of energy.  
?I will take you, for now, at least once a year to the temple.  You will be 
able to see with your own eyes the beauty of Lord Vishnu as Ranganatha.?  At 
this there was a complete uproar.  Clapping and running.  People fell at the 
feet of Sri Ramanuja.  Maaran and I ran up to him and fell on our knees.  We 
grasped his hands in ours and cried with joy.  My hands trembled as I could not 
believe that the day had come where we could enter the temple.  He pulled us up 
and simply smiled.  Andaalu came running and asked me if it was true, and with 
tears in my eyes I nodded, holding her small face in my hands.  We all jumped 
for quite a while, and even then were not exhausted.  
?Come.?  Sri Ramanuja said quietly.  And we all followed in silence.

After walking deeper into the area and past houses as well as the stares of 
other castes, we entered the temple.  When I stepped over the small step, 
through the temple doors, butterflies formed in my stomach.  We walked on the 
cold stone floor with our bare feet and up a few more steps.  We passed pillars 
with sculptures on them of ladies and birds and smaller gods.  Most of the 
temple had been cleared for us, either way nobody would want to be there when 
we visited.  We walked into another door, this time with a ceiling, and then 
another.  Then we stopped, and in front of me was the big 21-foot long statue 
of Lord Ranganatha.  Everyone was speechless.  Standing in complete awe.  From 
the snake heads, to the full form of the Lord up to his small toes, my eyes 
devoured every inch of it hungrily.  My heart pounded faster and my blood 
became hotter as tears came to my eyes.  The form was much more beautiful than 
in my dreams.  I put my hands together, praying, not asking for anything in the 
world except to be able to see this more often.  To one day be able to see this 
whenever I wanted to.  I looked around me.  Everyone had tears of happiness on 
their faces.  Even my children did.  I looked at them, and looked back at the 
lord.  No words are left in any language for me to describe the feeling within 
me at that moment.

Sri Ramanuja let us admire the form of the God for quite a while until we were 
ushered out.  We were allowed to sit on the floor of the temple outside, 
against the pillars and just take in the atmosphere.  How lucky others were for 
being able to do this everyday.  Again, I sighed.
I went up to Sri Ramanuja and unable to control myself hugged him; he smiled 
and hugged me back.  Because of his heart, he looked so beautiful, and in that 
I could not bring myself to see who?s smile was more divine, his or the Lord?s 
himself.  We all fell at his feet and thanked him as much as we could, some 
even calling him their first God.  

Every year we were allowed to visit the temple after that.  Even though nothing 
very big has changed in the society yet, at least this was a start.  Now it?s 
year 1103 (AD) and I?m about to pass away at the age of 71.  My children and 
grandchildren are all around me as I write these last few words.  My last wish 
is that at least my great-grandchildren will not be shoved away like we were.  
The words of Sri Ramanuja echo in my ears.  And with that I close my eyes, and 
in that moment I see only the form of Vishnu, hopefully where I will reach 
anyway.     
=======================================================================================================================About
 the author:

Supraja is a 15 year old girl - Sri Madhavakannan Swamin's friend's daughter in 
Jakarta. Thanks to Sri Madhavakannan Swamin's influence she expressed lot of 
interest to learn our sampradayam. 

She has great interest in Tamil verses and the richness of Tamizh language 
also- though she
has been living in Jakarta for more than 12 years and is studying in American 
School. 

Contact the author at:   supsesh@xxxxxxxxx      
===================================================================================================================
Note from Sri Mukundan VP:

The first time I read this article, i was in tears, i hope many other devotees 
enjoy this
anubhavam and get to feel our Emberumanar's  compassion and love for all 
humanity.
Since the first time i have read this over and over every now and then.

In our sampradayam there is no Caste, Race, Language, Knowledge, Sex barriers
all we need is Love for him in our hearts.
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