For Kannada Click Here
It was the Upanayana (sacred thread ceremony) of my brother-in-law’s grandson. In the evening, we took the grandchildren out…
There is a beautiful sacred water body in our village called Rudrapada.
It was where all the grandfathers had learned to swim, where people bathed and washed clothes during the summer when water was scarce.
More than that, it was the holy spot where our village deities—Sri Venkataramana, Sri Kalaseshwara, and Girijamma—would ceremonially come for their sacred baths, ritual ablutions, and water festivities.
A sudden dhadak… dhadak… echoed along the tracks of my memory.
Every time the summer holidays arrived, there was an eager rush to go back to the village. There would usually be a wedding, an Upanayana, or a Bhoota Kola. Even if there was nothing special, that never stopped us from going.
Though streams flowed in all four directions around the village, power cuts at home were common. But we never minded. Without electricity, the water supply would stop—but for forty or fifty of us, how much water did we really need?
In the mornings, we would gather all our children and the other children who had come to the village for their holidays and set out together.
My husband knew every inch of that stream. He knew every whirlpool and every hidden current. To me, he was nothing less than a guardian angel. If he was with us, we would happily let the children play freely in the water. If not, we would first lay down a few strict rules before taking them there.
From home, we would carry jackfruit papads, akki rotti, chapatis, chitranna, curd rice, pickles, kotte kadubu, sweets prepared for family functions, crunchy snacks, bananas, and whatever else was available.
We would also bring sugar or jaggery along with lemons or kanchi fruits. A few tumblers and a vessel would come with us too, and we would use the fresh water from the stream itself to prepare sharbat or panaka.
Even by midday, we never felt like returning. And if we could not go in the morning, our little expedition would set out in the evening instead.
For the children of our sisters, brothers, and relatives who came to our village, this was always the greatest attraction.
On the way back, we would collect beautiful stones from the stream and feast on whatever nature offered along the path—jamun fruits, cashew apples, raw mangoes, wild jackfruit, rose apples, red berries, and countless other forest fruits. We would eat them, throw them at one another, play, and return home. Some of the children would then have to be bathed all over again with water from the house.
Even after eating so much, there was never any difficulty sitting down for dinner. Like Bakasura and Bhima, they would compete with one another, proudly finishing five or six large rice balls at a meal.
How beautiful those bygone days were… those bundles of simple joys…
Will they never return…?
By Veena Shanbhogue
Translation and Preservation by Sumanth Shanbhogue
Shanbhogue Publications 
Leave a comment