23-03-2023, 03:07 AM
Ramesh is working out at the akhada when his phone buzzes.
He ignores it and continues swinging the heavy clubs, a set called a jori. They’re large, wooden and cylindrical, with relatively short and narrow handles.
The rhythm is calming, the motion almost meditative. He will see who it is after he is done.
It is late, and the other wrestlers have finished their workouts and bouts and left.
Ramesh is alone in the rectangle of sacred soil, which smells of turmeric and spices. The way wrestlers prepare the soil, it is holy and you could eat it without any ill effects. His feet alternately find purchase and he grips the loose earth with his toes.
When he is finished with his exercises, he bathes in the tube well water at the back of the akhada. He doesn’t mind the coldness of the water that comes up from deep within the earth. He worships all things natural.
Guruji calls out to him, “Beta Ramesh?”
“Ji Guruji,” he says and appears before the older man as soon as he is decent.
Guruji nods at him and closes his eyes. With his eyes still closed, he speaks. “Today is a day of great moment. A pariksha for you. Are you ready for it?”
Ramesh is confused.
He has been following the news about the virus and the devastation it is causing but there is nothing particularly special about today.
He searches Guruji’s face, but half of it is masked. Guruji may be spiritual and religious, but he is no fool.
Unconsciously, he adjusts his own mask.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Guruji,” he says with great humility.
Guruji waves his words away. “It is about your Devi. I have had a vision. But, don’t worry. Like Arjun, you will do what is required of you. And when it is done, return home.”
He spreads his hands, taking in the ashram where he and a few others live. Most of the others have departed for their home towns.
Ramesh is still confused. But he is used to Guruji’s cryptic ways and he just nods.
He eats sattu mixed with water to make a firm dough, a little bit of jaggery, a couple of green chilies.
When he finally picks his phone up, he sees seven missed calls, all from Rashid, the tea stall owner who has become a friend.
He wonders what it could be.
It is nearing 10 pm, and he picks up the phone to call Rashid.
He ignores it and continues swinging the heavy clubs, a set called a jori. They’re large, wooden and cylindrical, with relatively short and narrow handles.
The rhythm is calming, the motion almost meditative. He will see who it is after he is done.
It is late, and the other wrestlers have finished their workouts and bouts and left.
Ramesh is alone in the rectangle of sacred soil, which smells of turmeric and spices. The way wrestlers prepare the soil, it is holy and you could eat it without any ill effects. His feet alternately find purchase and he grips the loose earth with his toes.
When he is finished with his exercises, he bathes in the tube well water at the back of the akhada. He doesn’t mind the coldness of the water that comes up from deep within the earth. He worships all things natural.
Guruji calls out to him, “Beta Ramesh?”
“Ji Guruji,” he says and appears before the older man as soon as he is decent.
Guruji nods at him and closes his eyes. With his eyes still closed, he speaks. “Today is a day of great moment. A pariksha for you. Are you ready for it?”
Ramesh is confused.
He has been following the news about the virus and the devastation it is causing but there is nothing particularly special about today.
He searches Guruji’s face, but half of it is masked. Guruji may be spiritual and religious, but he is no fool.
Unconsciously, he adjusts his own mask.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Guruji,” he says with great humility.
Guruji waves his words away. “It is about your Devi. I have had a vision. But, don’t worry. Like Arjun, you will do what is required of you. And when it is done, return home.”
He spreads his hands, taking in the ashram where he and a few others live. Most of the others have departed for their home towns.
Ramesh is still confused. But he is used to Guruji’s cryptic ways and he just nods.
He eats sattu mixed with water to make a firm dough, a little bit of jaggery, a couple of green chilies.
When he finally picks his phone up, he sees seven missed calls, all from Rashid, the tea stall owner who has become a friend.
He wonders what it could be.
It is nearing 10 pm, and he picks up the phone to call Rashid.
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