Charnaamat

CHARNAAMAT *

The annual school picnic was like a pilgrimage to us kids. We were in third standard (grade) and eagerly awaited the day of no school and no homework. The delicious Gulab Jamun or the Kalakand we received at the end of the picnic was sweeter than usual. Life was great on that day. We were the envy of the rest of the school. This year, the destination was Kurukshetar. Kurukshetar is the farthest we had been from home during the school picnics.

The day before, I washed my winter uniform, a red sweater and a grey pant. I shined my shoes with my secret mixture of shoe polish and spit. Next morning I didn’t forget to collect my pocket money of 2 rupees. The rupee went far those days. Ten to twenty toffees, Amb Papar, Sugared Saunf, Samosas - ah ha!, my mouth watered. These forbidden delicacies were mine without the admonishment of parents, "You’ll get a sore throat!"

School friends gathered in groups close to the bus pretending to be casual and innocent, at the same time, suspicious of others’ intentions. The goal was to rush the bus to get the window seat. Hopes were dashed when the teachers told to form orderly lines. Children of Indians don’t back down during such struggles. The sight of a bus illicits bravery amongst even the timid Indians. The lines broke as soon as the door opened. I managed to get the prized window seat. The less fortunate squealed, "I saw the seat first, Madam ji he took my seat.........".

Bright sunny winter day, gentle breeze, and pastoral Punjab - what more could a mortal ask for. This beauty was blotched by the Sanskrit teacher and his chamchas (pet students) yelling "Bharat Mata ki Jai!", and "Baba Nanak di Jai" intermingled with some other nationalistic slogans. Thankfully, the patriotic enthusiasm was shortlived.

The fabled land of Kurukshetra arrived. This land of antiquity saw many invaders march thru on their way to Delhi and beyond. Prithvi Raj Chauhan fought Ghori at close by Thanesar. Shaikh Chilli’s maqbara that smelled like a pesticide and fertilizer shop was impressive. Most of the complex was littered with falling debris. Postings warned of lurking dangers in darkened graveyards and ’surangs’ (tunnels). Imaginations rolled as to where the ’surangs’ led. Our limited geographic knowledge put the longest tunnel to end in Delhi or Agra some 250 kms away!.

Kurukshetar is most famous for the epic Mahabharat. The battle between the cousins Kauravs and Pandavs was fought here. Much to our disapointment, we didn’t find any weapons or bones of the combatants. The vast temple complex with large pools was fairly impressive. The pools were inhabited by huge tortises. A large fair is held at the temple during an eclipse. People in large numbers throng these pools to take the holy dip. In one of the gardens, there is a big marble sculpture of Krishan and Arjun in a chariot. Arjun is about to let loose an arrow while receiving advice from Krishna. Krishna’s lecture to Arjun about righteousness, human suffering, duties, truth etc. are compiled in Bhagvad Gita. These temples commemorate the battle and the teachings of Gita.

Kids scattered to explore the nooks and cranies of the temples. Some enacted history as if they were present during the battle. Others added a little masala to the "historical facts" to make their versions of the battle better and more interesting. Those "loaded" with pocket money assessed different ’chabariwalas’ (knick knack sellers) and small shops in the vicinity of the temple. After briefly scrutinizing the wares, they went on a spending spree. My 2 rupees dwindled to 15 paisas (cents). The Panji (nickel) was spent on a toffee. The remaining ’dasi’ (dime, 10 paisa) was saved for either 2 mediocre toffees or 1 deluxe toffee for the trip home. Thirst set in from all the exploring. The solitary water source was a handpump with ’khara’ (brackish) water. I splashed my face with the water. Used to drinking the sweet water of Punjab, I couldn’t take more than 2 swigs from the handpump water. Refreshed, it was time for more exploration.

The main temple, a whitewashed building that housed the idols was at the center of the complex. The taller kids and those who could jump high, rang the bells in the doorways of the temple. The reward of bell ringing was two fold. The gods were pleased; and the fairer sex was impressed at the ability, agility and the tallness of those who could ring the bell. At least that is what the ’ringers’ thought.

The doorways and archways led to a dimly lit inner sanctum that housed the idols. Whatever little sunlight managed to peek in, illuminated the idols and their gilded and colorful costumes and ornaments. At their feet lay money - offerings by the devotees. To the left of the idols, sat a young Pandt or a Bahman (Pundit or Brahmin in Punjabi, a Hindu priest) with partially shaved head. He supported a big tuft of hair towards the back of his head (a bodi) and a big tilak (religious mark) on his forehead. He was a peculiar and comical sight. He dispensed some liquid to the devotees and visitors with a decorated spoon from a "gardvee" (a round utensil with a short tight neck and open lipped mouth).

The kid before me offered a few paisas to the idols and took the liquid. What is that I inquired. "It is charnamat", he enlightened me. What? I asked. He muttered, "It is like prasad", without providing further details. I cupped my hand to receive charnamat. The Pandt refused, "First offer money!". Clutching my dasi in my pocket, I bent the truth, "I don’t have any." "No money, No Charnamat", he did not budge. "What does this taste like? Is it sweet?", I inquired. "No money, No Charnamat", he repeated ignoring my questions. "Is it Sweet like a Nectar or a Sherbet?", I asked the classmate who had received it. He grinned without revealing the secret. I asked around, some were blissful after receiving charnamat, others ignored me and my ’trivial’ question.

I went back hoping the pandt had forgotten my face. There were about 100 kids in our group. No possiblity of him recognizing me or remembering our early conversation. I asked for charnamat pretending this was my first visit. To my surprise, he recognized me. His irritation showing, he pointed towards the offerings at the feet of the idols. First give me ’charnamat’, then I will give offering; I was smart for my age. He simply shook his head.

Thousand questions ran thru my mind. Should I or shouldn’t I? What is this "charnamt"? Is it sweet? Will I be blissful? The most important question, "Will it be better than the toffee I had selected at the shop? I rationalized my decision, I have eaten hundreds of toffees but never had taken charnamat. I plopped my dasi at the feet of the idols, and saw it roll and lose its identity amongst the offerings.

I cupped my hand in anticipation of the impending bliss that charnamat will bring. The pundit’s hand guarding the garvee didn’t move. "More offerings!", the thug said. "I don’t have any money left", I turned my pockets out for him to see. He ignored me. Reading my intentions, his frown dared me to retrieve my dasi. He is not a holyman in god’s house; he is a hooligan cheating a small kid. The bastard must not have read the Gita!

Duped by the cur, I left in disgust. The whole betrayal replayed in my mind over and over like a bad dream. The toffee displayed at the chabariwala’s stall infuriated me further. The remainder of the day slid by even slower. I went back to check if he was relpaced by another pundit, or if I can sneak a swig from the unattended garvee. No such luck. I guess my bell ringing abilities were lacking and the gods were not pleased!

Though other activities and attractions kept my mind busy and away from the bitter experience, I did not completely forget the incident. The tour was now leaving for the next destination. Everyone boarded the bus, and I took my window seat. Mixed emotions and the long day had taken their toll. Thru my half closed eyes, I saw the pundt making his way to the hand pump with the empty "charnamat" garvee. He started filling the garvee with "charnamat" from the handpump, while close by, his pudgy older colleague washed his posterior with a simmilar garvee.

Now my eyes were wide open. My face lit up with a tired smile as the bus gently left the scene.


*charnamat is the water that was used to wash charan (feet). Illiterate and gullible people used to drink the water that had been used to wash feet of "holy" men. This practice is prevalent amongst hindus. Many misled sikhs also drink charnamat water from washing area where feet were washed before entering a gurudwara. Others drink it from tanks in temples or gurudwaras where devotees wash themselves before offering their prayers. It may sometimes also mean ’blessed water’; when simple water is blessed by chanting or hocus pocus.