Unusual Encounter

It is my mother’s pet story ever! She must have had narrated it innumerable number of times but whenever she got audience, she would narrate with the enthusiasm of an 8 year old girl though, she has crossed eighty years many years ago. Her enthusiasm gets doubled if the audience comprises of her great grandchildren – who have only seen Gandhi in pictures – who pester her to narrate her encounter with the Father of the Nation. She vividly remembers every detail even though the incident happened ages ago and mesmerizes her audience by her deliberate narrative method. To savor the essence, it must be told in her own voice:

“It was October 1924; the freedom struggle had reached its crescendo and Gandhiji was to arrive in Mysore city. Agaram Rangayya, a Gandhian and freedom fighter was making arrangements and the entire Mysore City was gearing up for the occasion; there were plans for meeting in every Mohalla (extension) and arrangements were also made for collecting donations. 

The main attraction for the school children, however, was the prayer meetings. They could sing in front of Gandhiji! Not to be left behind, our teacher told us that in our Mohalla (extension), the only school selected was ours! At that time I was just 8 years old and was in my “fourth form” (equivalent of 4^th standard) Being shy, I used to take the back seat in all our cultural programme. The thought of standing in front of Gandhiji, leave alone sing, put me off. I was so scared, I even thought of bunking the whole weak least, some responsibility fall on me.

However, as fate would have it, I was not allowed to bunk any classes by the elders at home and our school teacher, none other than my maternal aunt, who threatened to use the long stick she kept in her drawer, if anyone missed the school.

There I was, sweating profusely sitting in a corner when the final touches were being given for the ensuing programme. It all seemed to have gone well and I heaved a sigh of relief, when suddenly, my aunt turned towards me and asked, “Lalitha, what are you going to sing”? For a minute or two, I was stunned. I stood up looking at my toes and tried opening my mouth but no sound came out. Exasperated, my aunt, looking at me with her large eyes declared in her booming voice; “Ok. You sing the invocation song along with Susheela.”

At this stage, the young and innocent faces with gaped mouth would be staring at my mother. She would deliberately pause for effect, clear her throat and order for a glass of water. The grandchildren – all eight of them – who are normally obedient, wouldn’t budge! After testing their patience to the hilt, mother would continue.

“On the D-day, I was dressed in sky blue coloured long silk dress that swept the ground and I almost stumbled and fell on my way. But it was God’s blessings; he alone could have given me the strength. I pulled myself up and strode with Susheela and standing in front of Gandhiji, sang in a loud clear voice Mysore Vasudevachar’s ‘Nannu Brovara’! Gandhiji, his head bent, eyes closed, kept nodding and after the song, we all went to get his blessings.”

There would be commotion at this juncture; all grandchildren virtually shouting in a chorus and asking my grinning mother the same question. “Did Gandhiji understand what was being sung”? Her eyes twinkling, my mother would say with a straight face; “Of course, he understood! After all, you don’t need to know the language to understand the songs sung in praise of God”!