We know of saints who have been a lighthouse for those lost at sea, the sea of suffering and misery. They brought them to the shore of Erai that quenched their thirst, healed their wounds, was a balm that soothe their hurt, gave shelter and food, and most importantly gave hope to live. While many return to their world of dreams after having their problems solved, some had enough of live and its roller coaster bombardment and opt to chose to remain with the saint learning about Erai and how to get in touch with him.
The spiritual realm has always drawn people to it. Its many mysteries has always captivated the attention and captured the curiosity of many. While many test the depth of the waters, some just jump in. Reading the past lives of saints brings joy as we trace their path to Erai's kingdom. Similarly singing the songs left behind by them brings on joyful and blissful moments. The talk of Erai and his lilas immediately uplifts ones soul.
If we had seen saints from India taking the leap into a portal to the other world in the likes of Manikavasar, Sambandar, Sundarar and many others in the past, in recent times a tale is told of how Esakhi Siddhar of Tiruvannamalai held on to the hands of a lad, invited him to his world.
Both Vimalan and Suresh who had attended the Pornami puja at Kallar invited me to their hometown of Tiruvannamalai. Once there I called them over to Supramania Swami's kudil. They invited Swami and me to a Sivan temple. There they introduced me to this lad. It seems he had come upon the dilapidated temple and took up the task of cleaning it and lighting a lamp. He stayed back to become its priest and caretaker.
Once a man appeared and after picking up a conversation, took him by the hand to the back of the Shivalingam and place his finger into a crack in the wall. Before the lad knew it the man's body had passed through the crack. What was left was the remaining portion of his lower right arm and hand that had a good hold on him. He asked if the lad wanted to follow him. The lad panicked and let go of the man's hand. The man disappeared into the crack that shown bright. Before disappearing into the gap the man managed to reveal himself as Esakhi.
Another story unfolds at Kallar Old Ashram. Tavayogi called me excitedly and told me my brother, sister-in-law and nephew had been blessed with Lord Muruga's darshan. A young lad in pants and shirt walked up the small hill on which the old ashram was perched, taking a few steps and then bringing his hands to his hips would look around and continue walking up. When he reached the top, as it was lunchtime and everyone was having their lunch, Tavayogi invited him to join. The lad replied that he had taken. The lad behaved quite strange, speaking nonsense, things that did not make any sense to those gathered there. In between this senseless talk, he would mention that he was in Kataragamam. Then he continued with the nonsensical talk. He would pause to mention Thiruchendur. He continued. He stopped to mention Palani. Then he says that he came to Kallar as he heard there were good souls there. All the places he mention were abodes of Lord Muruga. Only then did it dawn on Tavayogi that it was Lord Muruga who had came. When he showed signs of recognition, the lad hushed him and entered the Dyana Peedham. Everyone followed him. The lad blessed them and asked my brother if he wanted to follow him. Tavayogi quickly intervened saying that he would send my brother later. The lad left the way, just as he had come.
As mentioned in the site http://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/infopedia/articles/SIP_2013-12-11_165654.html,
The Chettiars were traditionally merchants and traders in precious stones but later became involved in banking and money lending activities. Their role in finance expanded with the growth of British colonial rule in Southeast Asia. Many Chettiars emigrated from India to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka), Burma (now Myanmar) and Malaya (now Malaysia) as the British expanded their presence in the region.
My late father, who was a money lender both by clan and profession, took the leap too, seizing the opportunity, as new frontiers opened up, leaving his homeland for greener pastures. He traveled on foot and cart over land to do business in Rangoon in Burma; sailed to Ceylon and Singapore and finally settled in Malaya. He began his business with his peers in Ipoh and later at Market Street in Taiping. I remember the days I spent in his office at the kittangi.
Jaime Koh describes beautifully these times from the past in the above website.
Borrowers who loaned small amounts from the Chettiars had to sign a promissory note. Those who took loans for larger amounts had to provide some form of collateral, such as jewelry or a title deed. Interest was charged on the amount borrowed and the rate of interest was listed in the promissory note.
The Chettiars generally conducted their businesses in kittangis (which means “warehouse” in Tamil), which were usually shop houses. The Chettiars would set up their offices on the ground floor of a kittangi. As Chettiars usually operated individually, each had his own safe and wooden cupboards for conducting business. A Chettiar moneylender usually sat on the floor and worked from a small wooden desk. There were also no partitions to separate the various Chettiar money lenders as they had their own designated spots for doing business.
A Chettiar’s financial training would usually start in his childhood, where he would learn the theory of banking and accounting from family members. Boys as young as nine years old were rigorously trained in mental arithmetic and even taught to do mental calculations in fractions. They would go on to serve their apprenticeship at various Chettiar firms once they reached their teens,
As mentioned, we were amazed to see the speed and accuracy with which my father used to calculate, without any external aid, all done mentally and verbally.
The Chettiars worked and lived in the kittangi. While the ground floor of the kittangi served as their offices, the upper floors were used as residences. A caretaker took care of the kittangi while cooks provided the meals.
Although my parents rented a home away from the kittangi, they did have a cook to prepare meals for them and the chain of visitors they had coming over. My parents were very hospitable and caring even to their employees. My father was a philanthropist in his own little way. Besides entertaining guests (virunth upasarappu) he used to give away money and things, the largest contribution being a car he was using, given away to another. Very few owned a car then. My father was one of them. The Morris Minor was a favourite then.
The Japanese Occupation (1942–1945) also brought about a steep fall in Chettiar money lending activities due to the instability of the Japanese currency and rampant inflation.
As mentioned, having purchased properties and assets, life was promising until the war came. When a string of machine gun shots from a Japanese fighter plane missed him by inches, my father realized that all his money could not have saved him. It was his charity and charitable nature that saved him that day.
When the British came back, life picked up and he renewed his profession, continuing with his charity. The Chettiars had to allocate a percentage of their earnings to the temples that they built and upkeep. They invested in properties that brought in income for the continued sustainance of these temples. Cost to upkeep and maintain the rituals were cut down by having plots of land adjoining the temple grounds, that yielded coconuts and banana. Cows were grazed here for their milk. The Chettiars never seeked donations from outside.
Then one day, he took a drastic decision, keeping us all in the dark. He left the family for India to seek asylum in an ashram. My father who wanted to remain in the ashram and serve the master was sent back to Malaysia to fulfill his remaining responsibilities towards his family by his guru. After returning to Malaysia, he did not return home immediately, but served as a priest in a temple in Tampoi, Johore. When he had a stroke, he was forced to return home. After seven years of absence he came back to us. I was the first one to see and greet him upon arrival just as I was the last one to see him leave for India in 1968.
I remember how he used to pick up a pencil or pen and would try to hold it in his hand and begin to write daily. He would practice and keep on practicing until he could hold and write steadily. He recovered fully from his stroke. He would keep to himself exchanging only a few words with others; hardly left the home except to go to the kittangi for news from abroad. His younger brother who was residing in Malaysia too, having married a local Chinese, and who was operating a driving school, was his constant companion.
My father’s final moments were amazing as we reflect upon it now. We guess he knew his time was up for he who always did his own chores by himself, asked and requested for certain things that final day. He surprisingly asked my mother to iron his shirt, which he wore after taking a bath. He had his lunch and waited to watch the Tamil matinee that used to be aired once a week on Thursday afternoons. When the movie ended he asked my mother to mix him his coffee something that never had happened before. He would mix a large mug of coffee by himself all these years.
When my mother returned with the hot coffee he was not in his usual seat but was seated crossed legged on the floor in the opposite corner of the living room. His eyes were open but the pupil looked up. When my mother reached for his legs that were tugged neatly, deep and close to his body, he toppled over, his head now resting on my mothers lap. The paramedic on arrival, declared that he had passed away. We buried him. He was 76 then in 1991.
Just as Ramajayam told me that he only realized what a great saint his father Supramania Swami was only after his demise, now that I had began worship and as I come to know more about spiritual matters, I realize that my father was no ordinary soul too. I can imagine how we would react in the face of approaching death and here my father faced death calmly, taking up a spot in the corner of the home, sat in padmasana and brought his gaze up to his sahasrara chakra. He was not ill, did not surfer, did not have the fear of death, was not complaining, was not crying in pain, nor was he gasping for air. It all happened within minutes. We are grateful to Erai for making it easier to depart.
Just like my father, those who returned back to society, returned a changed person after getting to meet these saints. Each saint would have a word of advise and guide accordingly each specific seeker.
As for the saints, coming out of long periods of tapas they turned their attention to society. It is said that Arunagiri had identified two elements that if overcome would safe us - poverty and greed - giving equal weight to both. He had envisioned a world without poverty. He believed without greed, society could advance in a positive manner. Bharathi too voiced out the disease in society.
When I came to known Supramania Swami and Tavayogi, they were in their seventies and sixties respectively. I could not follow their spiritual journey watching the change in them, for myself except for whatever little they shared. Then came along Jnana Jhothiamma. Her journey was equally exciting. I was at an advantage because she used to Skype me initially from the USA and later from India. She would talk for hours describing in detail all that went on in her life and the changes she was going through. She would mail me too regarding these. I began to gather and document all these material and prepared a draft of her biography.
Then she was asked to isolate herself and stop being active in the social medias by Agathiyar. The mails soon stopped too. Even I was left in the dark. Then one day I received a call from her driver saying she had been admitted into a Siddha hospital. Although she was in pain and her speech not audible at times she spoke over the phone. She was discharged soon. Then silence fell again until I received another call some time later, from her house owner, that she had collapsed in her home. She was being treated at the hospital. The next few days saw her vital signs go down and eventually she passed away. It all came as a sudden as Agathiyar had a very promising future drawn up for her. But it did not take place. What had brought the change in her destiny? What was her wish that Agathiyar had to give in and comply, that brought an end to her mortal life? She passed away on 4 April 2017.
Her fate was changed the moment she came to read this blog and made her way to Kallar ashram in 2011. Returning to USA, she would follow our puja over the internet and sing along with us. She was the one who initiated live streaming of the puja from AVM. My family and I, and all those at AVM who knew her do really miss her.