The Unknown Srivaishnava

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:

“Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.

But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world;
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”

And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge:

“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils Himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within Himself make pure! but thou,

If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of.

Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seëst—if indeed I go—
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows crown’d with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.”

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs.

Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Look’d one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

EXCERPTED LINES OF POETRY FROM “Morte D’Arthur” written by Alfred Lord Tennyson

https://in.news.yahoo.com/sadhguru-reacts-oppositions-charge-freetemple-082000071.html

Let’s demand a recount…of COVID deaths – American Thinker
— Read on www.americanthinker.com/articles/2021/05/lets_demand_a_recountof_covid_deaths.html

If the USA hasn’t got the morbid accounting right I wonder what the situation is in India?

Sudarshan Madabushi

https://fb.watch/5wSr3y1LFb/

Watching this video clip below … about this year’s Padma Shree awardee, Paapammaal of Tamil Nadu, brought back to me a few memories of my own maternal grandfather C. Lakshminarasimhachariar in his village of Kangayenellore (near Katpadi) where he lived and worked all his life tilling his considerable farmland ancestral holdings… He was a indeed a “son of the soil” in the true and best sense of the phrase …

Being the successful farmer that he certainly was in life it was not as though he did not face difficult challenges and hardships of his occupation in that tiny village … Yet it was as a hardworking farmer that he chose to define himself in life and found fulfilment in it.

He raised a large family of a dozen children. To every single one of whom he strived to give the best start in life in terms of modern education , best health care, timely marriage and finally, a handsome inheritance too that he left behind for them.

His legions of grandchildren (they today number more than 2 dozens belonging to all classes of generations : baby boomer, millennial, genX and genY and live as part of the Indian diaspora across the globe ( in the US, W.Africa and New Zealand ) .. they too have received in good measure, whether directly or indirectly, the many benefactions of his farm in Kangeyanellore.

I am the eldest of all his grandchildren and today as I look back and remember his life’s work — and his farm — I realise how generously they both had provided me in my own life the priceless blessings and bounty of food and salt — good nutrition and robust health ! I tell myself now that I too qualify in a sort of way to be called a “son of the soil” of Kaangeyanellore … but not in the same sense as my grandfather was … for, while he worked and toiled tirelessly all his life on that land by the “sweat of his brow” I, on the other hand , was fortunate to merely eat off it … and for which I know I must remain grateful and indebted all my life .

Watching this video clip of old Paapammaal I can’t help my blind admiration for this lady of 105 years! She reminds me of the same dour , rugged and indomitable farming spirit that my own grandfather possessed.

If my grandfather had been alive today … he too would have been at least 103 or 104 years old … ! And I’m sure he would still have remained in Kangeyanellore and continued to plough his lonely furrow , tending to his cattle and still producing enough crops and food from out of the same patch of soil with which he had raised 3 or 4 generations of his large happy global progeny …

My grandfather is long gone today … he died in 1979 .. and almost all of his farmlands have vanished too … sold away slowly bit by bit over the years … His farm today is a pale ghost of its old self .

But I guess the spirit of C.Lakshminarasimhachariar still probably sometimes lingers in and around the farming vicinities of what once was his old village-farm that has however itself undergone so many changes and transformations, it is unrecognisable today.

That spirit of his probably still meanders around through what once were his vast farmholdings … much like the way I now see in this video grand old lady Pappamal doing in her very own lands …

And who knows … probably my grandfather is wistfully whispering to himself :

“With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
With mine own hands wrought to make it grow ;
This was all the Harvest that I reaped
I came like Water , like Wind I go … “

Sudarshan Madabushi