I first went to my "hometown" when I was twenty. It was, in fact, my father's hometown - Jagalur. My father used to tell us interesting stories about Jagalur and its denizens. (We called our father Anna – though it means an elder brother. This is a common practice in some communities. I will refer to him as Anna from now on.) Naturally, I had formed an image of the place and the people in my mind. Also, the feeling of it being our place had grown. Now that I think about it, it appears funny. If you, who are reading this, find it ridiculous, I have no objections whatsoever.
When I went to Jagalur and saw Anna's house, the road on which the house stood, the lake, the Ramamandira, the "Seeneerbavi" (“sihi neer baavi” a sweet water well, in contrast to a well with brackish water), all completely new yet somehow. Some of the incidents during that visit are still fresh in my mind - even after almost fifty years. This is an attempt to share a few of them.
Anna's beloved uncle and teacher, "Raghkakka", was still alive and lived in Jagalur then. He was my grandfather's cousin. I had never met Raghkakka before, but I had developed a respect for him. He was a teacher at the school in Jagalur and had taught Anna. According to Anna, Raghkakka was the reason why Anna had a good grasp of the English language. At a time when my grandfather had lost faith in Anna (with good reason) Raghkakka had stood by Anna, believed that he was intelligent and would prosper in the future. He had, and convinced my grandfather to let Anna continue his education and had thus safeguarded Anna’s future.
One evening, I went to the Ramamandira with Raghkakka. Like all Ramamandiras, it too was unpretentious. Raghkakka was one of those involved in its administration. One of the tube lights in the Ramamandira was not working. Someone who knew a little about such matters had said that its starter had gone bad, and that it might work if it was replaced. Someone had even bought a starter. But the elders there could not get on a high stool and install a new starter. And it was too small a job for the electricians in town. So, it had not been working for weeks.
Raghkakka asked me very hesitantly, "You are studying electrical engineering. Would you know how to replace a starter?" I brought a stool, climbed up on it and replaced the starter. The lamp lit up. He and the priest of the Ramamandira were overjoyed. They showered their blessings and those of Rama on me. Even now, when I remember their helplessness and innocence, I feel sad.
I had been to Jagalur with my sister and we went to visit Sri Kasim Saheb, the father of Sri Fakir Saheb, who had been a close friend of Anna. Sri Fakir Saheb had died young. At that time of our visit, Sri Kasim Saheb was old and was bedridden. We talked to him for a while. The love and admiration he had for Anna were evident in his words. When we were ready to take leave of him, his daughter-in-law applied kunkuma on my sister's forehead, gave her betel leaves, areca nuts, and a coconut and bid us goodbye. (Even though this is not a practice among Muslims, many followed this custom when Hindu women visited them, which is very pleasant)
In Jagalur, we stayed with Jagalur Ramachandra, Anna's cousin. We called him Doddappa (An elder brother of one’s father). One evening, my sister and I returned to Jagalur after being away the whole day. It was around seven in the evening and it was quite dark. An old man was squatting in front of Doddappa’s house. As soon as we arrived, Doddappa said, "I have summoned Thimma." We had heard many stories about Thimma from Anna. So, we were very happy to be meeting him and it was totally unexpected.
Thimma was a servant who worked in the house of our grandfather Jagalur Raghavendra Rao. He was known as Vaddara Thimma or Oddara Thimma. (Vaddara or Oddara means, one who belongs to the class of Vaddas or Oddas**)
My grandfather was one of the important figures of the village. It is said that he also had the unofficial (and exaggerated) title of "The uncrowned king of Jagalur". Although he was a Shyanubhog – a hereditary village accountant - of a nearby village, he had passed on the work to someone else had stayed in Jagalur. His place of work was the jagali (a raised platform adjoining the front wall of a building) of his house. He was a “foot lawyer” (a "barefoot lawyer," a term used to describe individuals who are self-taught or lack formal legal training and are not accredited to practice law, often serving rural communities) by profession. His work included drafting land sale deeds, loan deeds, agreements, and assisting in division of property among the heirs of someone who had died intestate, etc.
Back in the day, Thimma's day started with sweeping the yard of the house and cleaning the jagali, spreading a carpet on it for grandfather and his clients, arranging pillows for grandfather to sit on and recline, setting up his desk, filling the inkwell, and so on and ended at night with cleaning all the lanterns and wick lamps at home, filling them with kerosene, and lighting them.
That poor old man had come from his village hours ago by bullock cart and had waited for us! He had to return to his village, some ten kilometers away, after meeting us. How cruel! That upset me. Doddappa asked Thimma in a loud voice, pointing to us – as Thimma was hard of hearing - "Do you know who they are?" Thimma shook his head to say he didn’t. "Raghanna's grandchildren, Achchanna's children", Doddappa said. Achchanna was the name by which Anna was known. His name was Lakshmana which had become Achchanna. We, who were already distressed by the cruel treatment meted out to the old man, were in for a bigger shock. Thimma, got up and hobbled towards us and right on the dusty road fell at our feet in obeisance.
I don't know if it was the respect he had for my grandfather that made him do that. Or was it the love he had for Anna? Or was the effect of a society that had instilled in him, down generations, this urge to bow down to those “superior” to him? Or was it a combination of all of them?
To our utter Shock and dismay, an old man of my grandfather's age had touched our feet!
Even now, when I remember it, I tear up with great pain,
* The online Kannada – English dictionary Alar, compiled by Sri V Krishna, gives this meaning to the word Vadda: a class of persons engaged in cutting stone, road-work, digging tanks etc., or a person belonging to that class.
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