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Srimate SrivanSatakopa Sri Vedanta Desika Yatindra Mahadesikaya nama:



An Englishman's Prapatthi




It was pouring cats and dogs. The Rain-God was on a destruction spree, and all 
fields bearing crop ripe for harvest were submerged. If the crop continued to 
be under water for a couple of days more, the grain would sprout, dashing the 
growers' hopes of a bountiful harvest and condemning farmers to another year of 
abject poverty. The flowing rainwaters had not spared dwellings too, and they 
were under a foot of water. Cattle, chicken, and other helpless creatures stood 
drenched, finding no dry place to take shelter in. Children cried in hunger and 
were hushed by the miserable parents, who could find no dry twig or leaves for 
lighting a fire and making food. The strong, icy wind pierced the skin like 
needles and made everyone shiver.



The majority of the village people were sheltered in the Rama temple at the 
center of the village, towering high and mighty against the night sky. The 
temple was however no perfect haven, for the roof, left uncared for decades, 
was leaking. Rain drops which insinuated themselves through the sieve-like roof 
did not spare even the majestic Lord, with the Kodhandam in His hand and 
holding Piratti's hand with His other, in a depiction of the divine wedding. It 
was as if the Rain god was performing Thirumanjanam to the Lord, whose tirumeni 
had not experienced one for months. The temple was in the preliminary stages of 
dilapidation, with the villagers paying scant attention to the needs of their 
Lord Protector, intent in their materialistic pursuits. Despite all that, when 
confronted by the non-stop downpour, the villagers flocked to the temple, which 
was the safest shelter they could find. They had absolutely no qualms in 
seeking the Lord's protection in distress, though they had ignored His 
existence right in their midst, when prosperity smiled at them.



The talk in the temple centered on a single topic-what would happen to the vast 
lake on the outskirts of the village, if the torrential rain continued? People 
who had been adventurous enough to have a peek at the lake confirmed that it 
was almost full in the morning. It was a huge lake, capable of accommodating a 
vast quantity of water and catering to the irrigational needs of fields for a 
hundred miles around. It had strong bunds built high to contain and consolidate 
inflows, and had never dried up, however rainless be the season.



It was this lake that was causing not a little concern among the locals. What 
would happen if the unthinkable occurred? What if the lake were to breach, 
unable to contain the copious inflows brought in by the continuing torrents? 
The thought of all that vast expanse of water cascading down from the breached 
bunds was terrifying. It would wipe out the village and hundreds like it within 
seconds, leaving none to recount the disaster. Such a thing had never happened 
before, leaving those living near it secure in the belief of its invincibility. 
However, nothing can stand in the face of nature's fury and the lake was no 
exception. Its bunds were of mud and stone only, and the immense pressure of 
water against them could just blow them away, opening the floodgates to misery.



A senior citizen, belonging to more religious times and who had seen the temple 
at the height of its prosperity and buzzing with spiritual activity, lamented 
the villagers' neglect of the temple and disinterest in its upkeep. He chided 
them for having angered the Lord through their irreverent and ungrateful 
attitudes. The mills of God grind slow, but they do grind sure and the old man 
was certain that nemesis had caught up with the unrepentant population.



Unnerved by the old man's pronouncements, the drenched crowd shushed him to 
silence and began to think of petitioning the governmental authorities for 
assistance. To prevent the impending catastrophe, the tank bunds had to be 
immediately strengthened and heightened. This was a monumental job, for the 
lake stretched away as far as the eye could see and the bunds encompassed a 
perimeter of several miles.



The British were still ruling the country and the District Collector, a pious 
man by name Colonel Place, was in charge of the area. When the matter was 
represented to him in all its magnitude, he immediately realized the 
explosiveness of the situation and ordered his minions to arrange for 
strengthening the lake bunds and for monitoring the condition round-the-clock. 
The wheels of Government swung into action and an army of workers busied 
themselves in carrying out the Collector's orders.



The rain, however, continued to come down in torrents without any let-up and 
the water level in the lake kept rising menacingly. Though night had advanced, 
sleep eluded the British man, who paced restlessly in his quarters, worried at 
the lack of let-up in the downpour. He decided to inspect the bund-work 
personally and left with his retinue to the lake, paying scant attention to 
those who tried to dissuade him on the grounds of impending danger. As one used 
to leading from the front, he left for the lake and arrived amidst a steady 
downpour. He climbed to the top of the bund and the sight that greeted his eyes 
took away his breath, the enormity of the situation striking him with full 
force.



The water level had risen alarmingly, till it now lapped at his feet, at his 
position on the top perimeter of the bund. Another hour or so of the rain and 
the lake would breach, with cataclysmic consequences. And since rain was still 
coming down in sheets accompanied by a gale, there seemed little hope of 
averting the inevitable. It was as if these miserable, uneducated and 
uncultured masses were destined to a watery grave. Then a chilling thought 
struck him-in deciding to visit the scene of action, he had painted himself 
into a corner and had no way now of returning to safety. It looked as if he too 
would be sharing the watery graves of the people he had thought about 
disparagingly a moment before. 



Was it the will of the Lord Jesus that he should die in a heathen land, 
forsaking his beautiful wife and affectionate children in distant England? The 
moment these thoughts occurred to him, he banished them with guilt-he was the 
District Collector, responsible for the lives and safety of thousands, be they 
heathens or unlettered. They looked up to him with child-like faith, hoping 
against hope that the tall, fair-skinned "Durai" would somehow work a miracle 
and save them all from certain death.



But what could he do in the face of Nature's unrelenting fury? The swirling 
waters of the lake were looking more menacing by the minute, and the wind had 
snatched away the umbrella held over his head by a lackey, apparently angered 
at the Collector's efforts at protecting his head while thousands of the 
proletariat were drenched to the skin stretched tightly over their skeletal 
bodies. 



Colonel Place was desperate and could think of no way to prevent the waters 
rushing out on their terrible mission of destruction. The old man in the 
temple, who had spoken of the neglected Lord and the awaiting nemesis, was also 
one of the Collector's retinue. In the pushing and pummeling wind, he had 
reached the Collector's side and, picking up courage, told the Official that 
only Lord Rama could save them now, as the situation seemed beyond human 
intervention. He explained to the skeptical Englishman the immense power of the 
Lord and His matchless beauty. In the drenching downpour, despite the wind 
snatching away many of his words, and in his broken English, he gave the 
foreigner an account of the exploits of Sri Rama and of His bridging the vast 
ocean with the aid of mere monkeys. The old man spoke with emotion of the 
Lord's infinite mercy and His abiding concern for the innocent.



It all seemed pretty unreal to the Collector-he was standing in pouring rain on 
the bund of a gigantic lake on the verge of breaching, hours, perhaps only 
minutes away from certain death, listening to an old native blabbering about a 
heathen god. He shook his head in disbelief at his own predicament and tried in 
vain to shore up his sagging faith in life.



The old man, with little else to do, continued his enthralling narrative of the 
Lord's prowess with the bow and of how His emissary was able to just fly over 
the vast ocean, again speaking with tears of the infinite mercy that 
characterized this "KaruNA Kakuttsttha", the scion of a royal family who spent 
fourteen hard years in the jungle, just to obey an unjust command supposedly 
from His father and conveyed to Him by a step-mother who was intent on making 
her own son the heir to the throne. 





When we are drowning, we tend to clutch at straws in desperation, especially 
when nothing else is available to hold on to. Colonel Place was in a similar 
situation. Though his strict Christian upbringing and military training 
prompted only skepticism and disbelief at the old man's tales, still an image 
began to form in his mind of a tall, handsome Prince, with a long bow held 
aloft in His powerful hands, the personification of mercy and righteous 
conduct, the symbol of sacrifice, His lotus-like eyes brimming with mercy for 
all mortals, and accompanied by an equally impressive figure, obviously a 
younger brother and ever ready to rush to the rescue of those in distress, at a 
mere call for succour, be it from whichever quarter. And once the image of the 
bewitching Lord entered his mind, Place found it difficult to shake it off and 
experienced an extremely pleasurable sensation, even amidst the desperate 
situation he found himself trapped in. 



Still clutching at straws, his mind reluctantly veered round to the possibility 
of appealing to this mythological hero for aid, which seemed the only thing 
left, especially since all other efforts had failed. And once his mind accepted 
what was hitherto unthinkable for him, he felt unreasonably buoyed up and 
prayed in his heart of hearts to Sri Rama to somehow, somehow, lead him and 
thousands of his subjects out of this apparently inescapable end.



"Oh Ram!", prayed the Englishman," Please do this, if not for my sake, then for 
the sake of the thousands who believe in You with all their spiritual might and 
conviction. I was listening to the tales of Your impossible feats with only 
half an ear. However, if it was possible for You to conquer that vast body of 
waters (lying between You and Lanka) with the mere threat of retribution, it 
should be no difficult task for You to control the menacing waters of this 
MadhurAntakam lake and to keep them confined to the inner bunds. I know full 
well that these are the words of an infidel who lacks absolute faith in You: 
but Your reputation as the epitome of mercy prompts me to beseech You.

Do this for me and for the sake of the hundreds of men, women and children who 
are in peril, and I shall build a temple for Your Consort, whom You appear to 
love dearly. Lord, please do help me!"



The moment this secret prayer was concluded, the Englishman saw, in a brilliant 
flash of lightning, the figures of two extraordinarily handsome young men, both 
with bows held aloft, appearing on the tank bund in the pouring rain. Their 
luminescent eyes seemed to radiate compassion and benevolence. Their beauty was 
beyond description and their regal bearing exposed their flawless lineage. They 
were perfectly proportioned specimens of virility, with a majestic gait and 
magnificent deportment. The elder of the divine duo looked at the spell-bound 
Colonel Place with twinkling eyes that seemed to hold out an assurance of 
assistance, amused at the Englishman's effort at bribery through the offer of a 
temple construction for Sri Mythily.

The awe-struck foreigner, overwhelmed by the unbelievable apparition, just 
fainted and fell on the soddy tank bund with a thud, slipping into 
unconsciousness, obviously incapable of absorbing the full delight of the 
divine spectacle.



When he emerged from his trance, Colonel Place found himself in his comfortable 
bed in his own quarters, with his minions peering anxiously at his supine form. 
Reminded of the impossible situation in which he had fainted, the Collector sat 
up with a jerk and demanded from his subordinates the latest position on the 
flooding threat, and felt immense relief wash over him when told that the rains 
had stopped with miraculous suddenness during the night and the lake waters 
too, poised on the brink, had receded to fairly safe levels. Through a planned 
opening of the sluices, the water level was brought back to near normal and the 
threat had blown-over.



Colonel Place's skin tingled when he remembered the Divine Youth he had 
witnessed in that flash of lightning, who had appeared as if in answer to his 
unuttered prayers, and effortlessly saved not only himself but innumerable 
others too from a certain and watery grave. The vivid image of the Lord and His 
infinite mercy in answering the insincere prayers of an unbelieving foreigner 
continued to occupy the Englishman's thoughts forever, and he used to recount 
the tale with fervour to sceptical audiences even after his return to England.



However, Colonel Place's newfound faith did not desert him the moment his job 
was done, and he lived up to his part of the bargain by constructing the ThAyAr 
Sannidhi at MadhurAntakam. A plaque on the Sannidhi walls still stands 
testimony to the aforesaid legend, which has bestowed the Lord with yet another 
tirunAmam, lovingly coined by His grateful votaries-"Eri kAttha Raman".



Srimate Sri LakshmINrsimha divya paduka sevaka SrivanSatakopa Sri Narayana 
Yatindra Mahadesikaya Nama:

Dasan, Sadagopan.







[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]





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