My grandfather was a quiet man. He rarely spoke to his wife, and spoke even less to his three daughters, my mother and her sisters. He didn’t like to go out much, and spent his days in his room. Can you blame him? He was 91 and plagued with a multitude of illnesses.. It’s hard to have energy in a situation like that. My mother told me to just leave him alone.
But he spoke to me often. When there were no others around. He would ask me to sit beside him, and he would tell me stories about himself. He told me how his father committed suicide when he was just a teenager, and he got adopted by his uncle, who later also committed suicide. He immigrated from India back in the 1940’s, and he got a job as a labourer. With his lack of education, it was the best he could do. He worked day in and day out, and somehow or another, managed to raise three kids to be successful adults.
He told me other stories too. Religious tales, stories from Hindu culture. He was a very religious man. I saw him pray every time I visited. When he was healthier he would go to temple every week, and he used to go on pilgrimages when he was younger. Not to mention, he was a vegetarian, in accordance to Hindu beliefs. He told me of Shiva, the destroyer, who had a third eye upon his forehead. When he opened this eye, all who he gazed upon would be turned to ash. I heard of the Pandavas, five brothers, descended from Gods, who waged an epic civil war against their evil cousins. I never really paid too much attention. I never believed in any religion. But one story he told me has always stuck with me, and now, with everything happening to me, I can’t stop thinking about it.
The story of Narasimha.
I remember exactly how it happened. I went to my grandparents house, just like I always did when things got bad at home. My parents had found out I had been smoking, and it wasn’t just cigarettes, if you get my meaning. When I got there, my grandmother was cooking and my grandfather was watching television on the sofa. They were happy to see me, they always were. Until they found out why I was there. My parents called and told them about the drugs they found in my room.
My grandmother made a huge fuss, while my grandfather sat silently. When she finally finished and left, he motioned for me to sit by him. I figured it would be another religious lesson, and I was right.
“Tell me, have you heard of the Narasimha avatar?” he asked me.
I shook my head, looking him in his eyes. They were a dark shade of blue, which I had always found strange. An Indian with blue eyes, not exactly common.
He continued. “I thought not. Let me educate you.”
“Once there was an evil man, named Hiranyakashipu. Through great penance, he was granted a boon by Lord Brahma, creator of the universe. He first asked for immortality, and was denied. He thought for a bit, and then asked for another boon.”
“He said, ‘Oh Lord! I wish to not be killed at day or night, on earth or sky, by man or animal, indoors or outdoors, and that I do not meet my death by any weapon’. His wish was granted. With his power, he laid waste to the land, and became king of all he surveyed,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. Nice going, creator of the universe.
“Hiranyakashipu considered Vishnu, the supreme being, to be his mortal enemy, so when his own son became a devoted follower of Vishnu, he was outraged. But any time he attempted to slay the boy, his attempts were thwarted by the great Vishnu. The boy would emerge unscathed every time,” my grandfather said.
“One day, he brought his son to his throne room, and gestured to a pillar. ‘Is Vishnu, all powerful, and always present, whom you have always considered beyond me, within this pillar?’ he bellowed. His son replied, ‘Yes, as he is within everything’. This enraged him beyond belief, and he picked up a mace and shattered the pillar with one blow. And from the pillar, emerged Narasimha,” he said.
“He was a horrible being, far larger than the evil king, with the head of a lion, a multitude of arms, and clad in gold and silver. He moved forward and attacked the king. Hiranyakashipu, who feared nothing due to his boon, fought back bravely. But he was soon overcome. Narasimha lifted him effortlessly and placed him upon his lap. Hiranyakashipu, still feeling totally relaxed and confident, smirked and exclaimed, ‘Whoever you are, know that you cannot kill me!’. The fearsome Narasimha looked him in the eyes, and replied,
‘I am neither man nor animal, but both. It is neither day nor night, but twilight. We are at the threshold of your palace, which is neither indoors nor outdoors. You are on my lap, which is neither earth nor sky. And I need no weapons to kill you, but my own two hands.’
Saying this, he dug his claws into the king, and tore him in half. And that was the end of the evil king,” my grandfather finished.
I thought the story was foolish and full of technicalities, not to mention there were a thousand better wishes the Hira guy could have asked for, but I said nothing.
My grandfather looked at me once more and said, “Now, for another story.”
I resisted the urge to groan.
“I once told you my father committed suicide.”
I sat up. Where was this going?
“It’s time I told you the truth.”
He had my full, unwavering attention now. And he knew it.
“My father, your great grandfather, was not a good man. He yelled, he beat his children and his wife, he drank, he smoked, he was a foul man in every way there is,” my grandfather said.
This was all new information to me. Noone had ever told me anything about my great grandfather before.
“My mother was a good woman. Not perfect, but she tried, unlike my father, who made no attempts to be a model citizen. She prayed daily for someone to save us. Remember, this was India in the 1930’s. The police would have laughed us away if we told them we were being abused. And nobody else would have dared to say anything. So, all she did, all she could do, was pray. She prayed to every God. But mainly to Vishnu.”
“And one day, her prayers were answered.”
“It was late, my father was outside the house. My mother had locked him out. He was screaming, and yelling threats. It was the worst I had ever seen him. I was peering at him through the window. My mother was consoling my siblings. My father was growing angrier by the second. He picked up a rock and hurled it at the door. It missed, and instead struck the pillar next to it, leaving a small crack.”
My grandfather leaned back and closed his eyes, like he was reliving the moment.
“He kept shouting and flailing his arms around. Then there was another sound. The sound of stone cracking. My father fell silent.”
“The crack in the pillar was growing. Larger and larger. It grew from just a few centimetres, to a metre across. I was astonished.” His lips quivered slightly, and his arms shook visibly. I saw the hairs on his forearms stand up, and goosebumps started to appear.
“An arm emerged from the crack.”
I recoiled in my seat.
“And then another. And another. And another, and another. A multitude. And the pillar shattered, and behold. Narasimha emerged. The head of a lion, the body of a man, the rage of a mother whose children were being abused. He fixed his fiery gaze upon my father, and advanced upon him. My father, drunk though he may have been, still recognised the being attempted to run. He didn’t make it far. He was grabbed, lifted in the air, and placed upon the lap of Narasimha. The creature spoke then, with a voice that hurt my ears.
‘Let it be known, this is the punishment of God.’
And then he tore my father to shreds.”
My grandfather opened his eyes and looked at me.
“The police came the next day, and they arrested my mother. They didn’t really believe she did it, but what else were they going to do? My uncle adopted me and my siblings later, as you know,” he said.
“What happened to your uncle?” I asked.
My grandfather laughed.
“He truly committed suicide. I told him what happened to his brother. He knew I was telling the truth. Why would I lie? He couldn’t handle it.”
“I tell you this story, so that you may learn. Our family, we pray a lot. Both your parents, your uncles, and your aunts. Prayer comes with a price. When you ask for God’s protection, you must also be subjected to his punishment. Abide by his rules or pay the ultimate price. I see you now, you hang around with a bad crowd, you do drugs. There is time to change. Karma is real. It may be as simple as losing money, or it may be a visit from the destroyer of evil. Be good. I wasn’t and I’m paying for it now,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I was… rather unpleasant in my youth. I got into a lot of fights. Got arrested. People who are hurt, hurt others. And now I’m being punished. You know how sick I am. How many illnesses I have. A long life is good, a long life with every disease you can think of is hell. I never complain, because I know how much worse it could be. I thank my stars that I was never punished like my father was. I can only hope that in my next life, I am a better man.”
With that, he was done.
That was years ago. My grandfather died at 95. Not half bad.
I am ashamed to admit, I didn’t listen to his advice. I stayed with a bad crowd. I did more drugs. I was cruel to animals, and to my girlfriends. And I’m about to pay for it.
I’m about to be punished. I know it. I see things everywhere I go. Sometimes, a man with a third eye upon his forehead. Sometimes, a devilish woman with a tongue sticking out. Other times, a massive man with a mace in one and a noose in another. Hindu Gods. Ready to pass judgement. Maybe it won’t be Narasimha. Maybe they’re just trying to scare me. Or maybe something will happen to me. I’ve changed my ways, but it may be too late.
I write this now to tell you. Please, be good. There’s always something watching. I live in fear everyday. Karma is real, and it will hit you when you least expect it. Sometimes, bad things happen to you, and you deserve it.
I see someone now. Through the window. Behind a tree. A man with a trident. He’s been standing there far too long. This may be it. Goodbye.