Ancestors know best
Shantnu Tandon
Just as I came out of the Banke Bihari temple, Vrindavan, and turned into the main lane, I soaked in the ambience of a heady mix called life. A generous sprinkling of devotion, devotees, chaat, lassi, peda, smeared foreheads, chanting, blaring bhajans, kadhai full of simmering milk...and a few urchins asking to be bought a Rs 10 plate of golgappas. I was lost in myself and checking out the shops aimlessly.
I slowed down near a beggar. Not to offer alms but to make way for a battery rickshaw carrying devotees back to their resthouses. I stood near the beggar letting the chariot pass by. Suddenly, I felt something heavy fell on me, maybe on my shoulders or head, I can't remember. As if a bomb had fallen silently. It was powerful enough to off-balance you, yet gentle enough not to harm you. I was left numb and senseless for a few seconds. With blurry eyes I could sense a few people hurrying and gathering around me. After regaining my composure, I felt as if some part of my body was missing.
I checked my limbs. Everything seemed to be in place. I was not able to see clearly and felt light on my nose and ears. I touched my nose and eyes only to find my glasses missing. Alas! I looked around frantically for my specs but couldn't find them. I looked haplessly at the divyang (beggar) squatting on the road. He revealed that it was actually a big fat monkey that had jumped on me and taken away my specs. It all happened in a split second, without causing even a scratch on my body or face. I was bewildered, traumatised, shaken up and amused — all at one go.
He advised me that if I bought a “Frooti” juice and offered it, themonkey would return my glasses. He identified my tormentor, pointing to a troop on the terrace jumping around merrily. I felt embarrassed that it was actually me who was a divyang! Without glasses, I was a useless creature. I was worried because the following day I had a workshop and did not have spare glasses. A few local youth gathered around and urged me to buy a “Frooti”. I was apprehensive but still requested the shopkeeper to help me. Finally, after tossing up a few frootis, I actually got my spectacles back. I returned to my hotel and kept wondering. Was that monkey really a tormentor?
No. I actually revere him. He was such a gentle predator who came to teach me a lesson or two. He was the one who gave back my sight and actually made me a little far-sighted. He left me with a bent pair of glasses but a clearer vision. I felt a deep sense of gratitude. He was caring enough not to harm me or break my glasses. Once he got what he wanted, he gave my stuff back and much more — a lesson for life.
We boast that we are the smartest race on this universe. For sure, we are not. Even a monkey can make us feel vulnerable at his will. What an attack it was. Such a combination of precision, timing, dexterity and playfulness was unbelievable. Assuming if one of us humans had these skills, what would we do? Probably boast intimidate, subjugate, harm and win over others or just prove our superiority? The monkey's attack was not aimed at harming. He was neither begging nor demanding, he was commanding. He had a right to be fed and not leftover or stale food but off-the-shelf, choicest of items. Something he would relish like the fresh ‘n’ juicy mango Frooti. I realised that monkeys are smart enough to snatch what we humans are most possessive about — our vision, our viewpoint. That evening, I learnt the true meaning of “where the head is held high”. For the rest of my stay in Vrindavan, I kept walking with my head held high but with a swallowed pride. It was the sight of a humbled human being finally looking up to and bowing to his ancestors. Fully aware of their ever-watchful eyes from up above.
The writer is a Gurgaon-based educationist.
