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Srimathe ramanujaya Namaha

Wonderful article.  It really got tears in our eyes.  Our wishes to the
young girl, Supraja.

Adiyen ramanuja dAsan/dAsee
Varadarajan/Sumithra

----- Original Message -----
From: "Pattangi" <danp@xxxxxxx>
To: <ramanuja@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Sent: Friday, November 11, 2005 12:29 PM
Subject: [ramanuja] God's Children - by a 15 year old girl - Supraja
Seshadri


sri:

I would highly recommend devotees to read this narrative story by this 15
year old  girl: Supraja Seshadri.
============================================================================
=========================================
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.
============================================================================
=======================================






Azhvar EmberumAnAr JeeyAr ThiruvadigalE Saranam
http://www.vedics.net


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http://www.vedics.net

 
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