Something that shocked me. January 1, 2019

Yesterday evening, on New Year's eve, I was on my way from my home to Villivakkam Agastheeswarar-Swarnaambikai temple - shortly called as Villivakkam Sivan koil, on foot. This temple dates back to centuries. Villivakkam used to be known as Vilvalapakkam in the past. Thanks not only to the Bilva (bel) trees...

Tridalam trigunakaram trinetram cha triyayudham

Trijanmapapasamharam ekabilvam shivarpanam

...but also due to the combat between Sage Agastya and the demon Illvala. Illvala's brother Vatapi would become a goat which would be cooked and served to a passerby who would innocently eat it. Their boon was such that when Illvala summons Vatapi, the latter would rip the stomach of the passerby from inside, who had just eaten the meat, and both brothers would enjoy a fine meal (steak? :-)) of the passerby. This, apparently, did not work with Sage Agastya, who digested Vatapi and also subsequently killed Illvala in a combat. The supposed incident took place in Villivakkam and the temple signifies the Lord worshiped by the sage.

Now, let me come to the incident that shook me to the core. On my way to the temple, I would have to use an underpass to cross the rail tracks. The ramp would be used by the motor vehicles and people on foot use a small pathway on either sides, at an elevated level. So, people walking could easily and clearly see vehicles moving below. You could imagine the scenario.

I was walking on the walkway, when the traffic flowing opposite to me slowed down to the beat of heavy drums. Naturally a funeral procession was on its way in the opposite direction. Whenever I see a funeral procession, I would stop and take a hard look at the dead body. I do this to constantly remind me of my own mortality. Likewise, whenever I cross a burial ground, I make it a point to stop for a few seconds to check if any dead-body is on the pyre, burning. Keeps my own feet firmly planted to the ground. One day I would also be there. I can't escape. None can escape.

I stopped and looked at the procession. A hearse was on its way to the cemetery. It was a black van with an open hatch. I looked inside. In the far end was a young man sitting - at the feet of the corpse. The corpse that was lying and face up and head towards the hatch (legs towards the front) was that of a lovely little boy - may be 12 or 13 years old - not more than 15. Near him was his father lying down on the floor of the hearse, with his hands and legs wrapping the corpse - just like a typical dad would do when lying near a son. It was the poor father's one last chance to be near his dear child - hug him on his way to the grave. Just imagine a hearse within which lay a corpse of a little boy and a miserable father lying by the side and hugging him for one last time before the mortal remains are consigned to flames. It was a very difficult sight to bear. I was just wondering what would be on the mind of the miserable father; his agony; sadness; shoonya... My goodness.

Life is fragile.