Death of Mahashay Sadaram Arya

It was september 1997. One month had passed since my father passed away. I was 15 years old then. School had started again and I was trying to get back into normal life. My friends at school were proving to be a great support. Incidently two of them had also been in the situation I was in now. Their father had also passed away in the last few years. Their support in the class was proving invaluable to me. On the other hand I was acting the brave boy. I would smile at anyone who would stop and talk to me. Before they could ask about my well being, I would promptly ask about theirs.

One month had passed. It was a hot september afternoon. I had just returned from school. My mom was at work. She had prepared lunch for me in the morning itself and left for work. I only had to take shower and then eat the lunch. This had been our usual schedule in the afternoon. I had just entered my home, was just surfing the TV channels when the door bell rang. I wasn't expecting anyone. As I opened the door I saw Mahashay Sadaram Arya standing there. He was an old man from Haryana. Mahashay is the title used in the state of Haryana and West U.P which signifies 'respected gentleman'. This title is usually used for an elderly person in the village who commands respect. Somebody people look upto for advice in village matters or even personal matters.

For people like him nothing more is more important than defending the integrity of this title. No amount of money or any other incentive would prove effective when it comes to influencing their descision in village matters. In a village, such people will hold lot more integrity than the local judge or lawyer.

Sadaram ji had great respect for my father. He considered him like his son. He would often visit our home and have long discussions on the present state of the country, the youth and the possible solutions. In Jeevan Vidya he saw the potential to give right understanding to the youth. His biggest worry was the disorientation of the village youth towards their village, their culture and unusual fascination towards city life. He called it the 'trouser culture'. The steady decline in the interest in farming was something that really worried him. In discussions with my father he saw some kind of hope for future. And so Mahashay Sadaram Arya was very fond of my dad. He was fond of me too. But I disliked him. I disliked him, because he was a typical village elder and I was growing into a modern boy. His expectations bothered me and my freedom worried him. While he expected a young boy like me should learn and appreciate the art of touching feet of elders, to me that looked an act of curbing my freedom. So while everytime I touched his feet the way my father wanted but in me I always felt uncomfortable. The act of bending down in front of someone and touching his feet seemed an interferance in my freedom.

Anyways, so this man was standing out at the door happy to see me. I too smiled back at him (with a little sense of discomfort in me). This time there was no dad who would ask me to touch his feet. Therefore the responsibility fell on me. I bent down and touched his feet. He gave me his blessings. I led him inside our house into the drawing room. It was a hot day and his face was red. I offered him some water and then sat on the sofa in front of him. We were both sitting quietly waiting for the other to start a conversation. He broke the silence by asking how my school was and how my studies were going. I had the usual readymade replies for such questions. I answered them promptly with an artificial smile. There was again a period of silence.

I was expecting him to mention a word about my father. Something of a sort that how bad he felt to hear the news of his demise. But he wasn't saying a word. I thought maybe he gathering some courage to speak to me about him. He then spoke." Please call your father and inform him about me. Please ask him if he could come a little early from office. I want to discuss something important with him".

I didn't know what to say. This man had come to meet my father. He had no clue that he had passed away just a month back. We had sent a letter to everyone informing about the demise, but I guess the letter never reached his village. The Indian postal system cannot be fully trusted when it comes to delivering important letters.
This situation was new to me. I had to inform somebody in person about my father's death. I just didn't know what to say, what words to speak. I kept quiet for what could have been the longest one minute in my life. I was looking at him and he was looking at me. He was probably wondering why I am not picking the phone and calling my father.

I then spoke."Don't you know? Did you not recieve the post card? My father died last month".

There was complete silence in the room. I could hear the sound of fan. This old man had completely gone quiet. His face got more red. He just sat there without making any sound. His eyes were wide open. He was looking at something, not me.

I slowly started feeling bad. It felt as if I gave this man a shock of his life. A shock he was not prepared for. We just sat there quietly facing each other. No one said anything. He then got up. "I should leave now", he said. He then moved towards the door. He stopped, turned back and put his hand on my head. It was a gesture of giving me good wishes. He then went away, went back to his village in Haryana from where he had come.

I was wondering what was going inside him. He must have had lots of plans for his village, all of which must have come crashing down. The problem of disoriented youth all of sudden must have become huge. When he would reach back home in the evening people would ask about the meeting. What will he tell them?? I kept thinking on all that the whole day. That was probably the first time I cursed the postal department. Why did the post card not reach him??

Few days past by since that day. One day I recieved a post card. It said, " With great greif we inform you about the sad demise of Mahashay Sadaram Arya". The old man had died within a month of that incident. The postal department did not miss the letter this time thankfully. I had tears in my eyes.

It's been more than 10 years now since this incident happened. Mahashay Sadaram Arya's face is still clear to me. I still remember the details of that day.