"Arunachala!" He called out, "Why do I need to travel, if I am to return to you?"
Muniswamy heard the sadhu call out in prayer at the Esanya Lingam temple. He was almost at the end of the Girivalam path, having walked his way on the fifteen kilometer pradakshana around the sacred Arunachala. After offering his homage at the Esanya Lingam temple, he could complete the walk with prayers at the Annamalai temple. He had been here, on the Girivalam path on a number of occasions in his 65 years, and had been able to complete the entire pradakshana without any problems. He had had no troubles for today, having started from the big temple as early as 5 a.m., and walking slowly he had made it to the Esanya Lingam temple by 9 a.m., before it would get too hot and sultry.
Having come on a number of occasions earlier, he knew of the burial grounds and the cemetery that you had to cross before arriving at the Esanya Lingam temple. Very soon, they were near the cremation grounds. He would have to walk for more than 800 meters at least, bordering the burial grounds. There were two bodies on the pyre, and the smoke was coming their way. It would be better to sit outside, awhile, and go inside the temple only after some time, he felt. Where could he sit? There was a stone-ledge alongside the burial ground, and the families who had come to cremate their loved ones, were gathered nearby. Two local vendors were standing nearby selling flower garlands. He could sit near them.
The flower vendors looked at him curiously. They were not able to place him, as a devotee, or pilgrim or as a member of the families who had gathered here for their loved ones. Muniswamy sat quietly, thinking, watching and wondering. His brother at Chennai had explained about the guardians of the eight directions. He had told him that if you would start at the Indra Lingam, then you would come to a logical end at the cremation grounds near the Esanya Lingam temple. What begins, has to end. If you began on a journey, you had to end it at some point. After you concluded your journey at the Esanya Lingam temple, you walked through the cremation grounds, cleansing yourself of all your actions in this life. You would then go ahead to surrender completely to Annamalai at the big temple. On each occasion that you would enter the great temple after a pradakshana on the Girivalam path, you came out without any baggage from your previous journey.
Muniswamy sat on the edge of the cremation grounds, between the Esanya Lingam temple and the funeral pyres. He watched the families standing near the pyres, and thought, to each one present, they would all return here, one last time. This place was their real destination. Smiling at the truth, Muniswamy went to the Esanya Lingam temple. This was the only one of the ashtalingams that was placed lower in the ground, almost underground. One had to descend a small flight of stairs to reach the Esanya Lingam. This was also supposed to be the largest and the most ancient. The priest was conducting prayers for some families who had come earlier and Muniswamy did not disturb him. He offered his prayers to Shiva who was Esanya himself at this place, and came up to the outer sanctum and sat outside the premises.
The images were extremely overwhelming. He had seen some pilgrims breaking down in tears at the Esanya Lingam temple. Today was not to be one of those days, he thought. His mind went back to some of his earlier visits on completion of the Girivalam pradakshana. Once, there had been an oldish gentleman who had been quoting the sacred Annamalai Venba and had explained some of the verses to him. It had left a profound impact on him. He kept hearing the verses again and again inside his head. He had not understood any of the words at that time, and he did not do so, to this day. He could not even remember the words. But, he could certainly sense the references to Esanya and to the cycle of life and death.
An elderly lady, silver-haired, dressed in a much wrinkled, well-worn saree, with a very largish circular crimson red kumkum bindi, came walking leisurely and sat next to Muniswamy. He greeted her respectfully, as one pilgrim to another, and sat quietly. He did not want to end up talking to her about anything, for he dearly wanted to get back to the big temple and conclude his Girivalam walk with prayers to Annamalai. He looked up at Annamalai and gestured to himself, almost in gratitude. The elderly lady watched his gesture and smiled.
As he feared, she began to speak, "Swamy, you seem to have been here on a number of occasions. Do you come here often? Do you sit here often?" Muniswamy hated when it happened in such a manner. He hated to talk to people when he could be better placed by walking on the Girivalam path. However, he replied, "I have to get back on the pradakshana. But yes, I do come here often. I usually sit here for sometime before going forward to the big temple. Why do you ask?"
She did not reply. She was watching a new family enter the cremation grounds. It was a very small group. Four men carried an old lady and placed the body near an empty pyre-site. The moment they placed the body, they stood away from it and walked away to stand under the shade of a large tree at a distance. Two women had accompanied then, and they stood near the compound wall of the cremation grounds. They did not enter the grounds. They just waited in the shade of another tree. Soon enough, an elderly gentleman came running behind them, with a young boy accompanying him. They stood near the two women. They were all silent. They did not go near the old lady's body that had been placed on the ground. This went on for a while, as Muniswamy watched quietly.
The elderly lady smiled and pointed and said, "O Swamy! Do you see that! They are all alone. Now, perhaps, they understand. As a family, they are all alone at this moment. A member of their family has passed away, and they have just about done their duty. Both those women are sisters, and that elderly man is their brother. They are standing there silently, waiting. Do you know, O Swamy, what is it that they are waiting for? They are waiting for people to come to help them to untie the lady and place her on the funeral pyre. Do you know why they are waiting? Because their caste does not permit them to go near the funeral pyre or to touch the dead body when it is inside the cremation ground. That is why the four who brought the old lady here, placed her on the ground and rushed away. Little do they realise, that they will also come here on their final journey and this is their fate. Yet, they cling on to their caste and pride."
Muniswamy looked at the people and agreed with her. The brother and the two sisters seemed to be waiting for some help to come along. There were similar help at one of the other pyres. They were placing the firewood and dung cakes on the body over there. It looked like it would be well over an hour before they would move over from their task to help out with the old lady who had been placed next to an empty pyre-site. He spoke to the elderly lady, "Who are those two sisters? Are they related to the old lady? Do you know them?"
"Yes! They are related!" exclaimed the elderly lady, "That old lady is my elder sister and those two ladies are her daughters and that elderly man is her son. She had passed away in here sleep and they rushed her here within two hours. They did not inform me, though I am her only sister. They fear that I will claim a share in her property. They did not even bother to take her to a good hospital to see if they could revive her. The medical doctor who gave them the death certificate in ten minutes, remembered me and informed me. That's why I have come here and I sit here."
It was too bad and depressing, thought Muniswamy. This was very unwise. When would people learn? She was their mother, and they made her wait, thus, in her final journey! He sat next to the elderly lady. The final part of the walk on the Girivalam path could wait, he thought. This lady needed his companionship now. She looked so courageous, but could lose control at any moment. They sat together, watching. It was almost high noon now, and the men from the other funeral had completed their tasks. They received some money from the family and came up to the body of the old lady. There was no conversation or instructions. They went about their job silently and without any discussion from the family.
The sisters and brother left the cremation ground by the time the pyre was burning fiercely. They would probably return tomorrow, Muniswamy thought. Or, if there were more bodies coming in, the pyre-helpers would sweep up the bones and ashes and retain them in a mud urn and hand them over to the family if and when someone would come to claim it. The elderly lady stood up as the family left the ground and took Muniswamy's hand for support. He walked with her silently to the funeral pyre and stood while she wept and circled around the burning pyre. She called out to a cremation priest sitting nearly and gave him some money to recite prayers. The sisters and brother had not conducted any prayers for their mother. Muniswamy stood, listening to the prayers, watching, his eyes lost in the leaping flames.
The flames made him weep. He was standing too close. He thought of his father and mother. He had done good by them. He had been able to carry them to their cremation, along with his brother, and his uncles. They had had no second thoughts about bathing them by themselves, dressing them up and conducting all the rites with the help of a regular cremation ground priest. His uncle had been close to his father. He had sat at the cremation grounds at their village near Satyavedu in Andhra Pradesh, holding on the ash-urn for eleven days, without returning home. They had gone to the cremation grounds to ask him to return, but he had refused. some said that his uncle had been talking strangely during those days.
Death was strange, funny and abrupt, thought Muniswamy. The only definite aspect of it was that it was final. It was complete. It got over and there was no way that you could change it. You had to accept it. Perhaps, those two sisters and the brother were more pragmatic. They had come to terms with the passing of their mother immediately. He stood quietly, as the elderly lady completed her prayers. She sat down in the shade of a tree nearby and said, "O Swamy, thank you for your help. I am ok now. I will sit here till the flames go down. You go ahead on the Girivalam and complete your walk. Later, if you feel good about it, please bring me some flower garlands from Annamalai himself so that I can offer them to my sister here, at the Esanya Lingam."
Nodding in agreement, Muniswamy bowed low with folded hands and went back to the Esanya Lingam temple. There was a water tap nearby. He removed all his clothes, right down to his loincloth, and had a quick bath in the cold water. Without drying himself, and with only a dhoti around his waist, he walked in to the outer sanctum. Nobody thought his appearance to be strange. He worshipped at the Esanya Lingam and sat on the stairs, at the last step. The priest had closed the doors to the inner sanctum. Muniswamy could sit silently, contemplating the aspect of Shiva as Esanya. What was this circle of life, he wondered, and why enforce the aspect so vigorously at this temple?
Muniswamy felt his question, being asked directly to Shiva. What could Maheshwara reply to the most profound of questions of humanity, he thought. Why should we be reminded of death when it is futile, for we cannot prevent death? Death was certain. Should one think about it or should one fear death? Is it just a moment in one's life like any other? If so, then one would have to remember that there would be nothing after death. The death of a loved person led to sorrow, but the death of a person in pain and sorrow should mean liberation. Would they take their pain and sorrow with them in their onward journey? Or, was one free of their misery? If one would get free from one's misery, then perhaps, one should look forward to death.
"Questions, questions, O Maheshwara! Who would give me answers?" thought Muniswamy, looking at the peaceful image of Shiva as Esanya. These were questions that nobody could answer, he knew. A family of pilgrims, having come from their walk on the Girivalam, came in to worship at the closed doors of the inner sanctum. There seemed to be three generations, grandparents, parents and a grandson and grand-daughter. The grandson was helping his grandmother down the stairs while the grandfather preferred to sit and crouch on the top step to get a glimpse of the Esanya Lingam. The grand-daughter sat alongside her grandfather. The parents came to sit alongside Muniswamy at the lowest step. Silently, they went about organizing the items for the prayer that they conducted themselves without waiting for the priest.
The grandmother watched everything patiently and turned to her grandson and said, "Muruga, you are a good boy unlike your father who is now lost in rituals. He has walked on the Girivalam path with me and his father on so many occasions but has yet to understand the ONE with no form. What prayer can you render to the ONE who is beyond everything? With which ritual can you bind HIM, who is impossible to contain? Your father will also die as surely I would. Muruga, ask your father to lead his remaining days in being a good teacher to you and your sister."
Muniswamy was amazed. He had asked a single question to Shiva as Esanya and had wondered if he would get an answer. Immediately, here was this lady, who explained that even such questions and rituals were only mundane in our surrender to the great ONE without form. Perhaps, he could be selfish and ask his questions, maybe one question, just one question, to the grandmother. And maybe he would get his answer.
Taking courage, with a silent prayer to Shiva as Esanya, he asked, "Amma, I heard you speak the truth to your grandson. I am sitting here in front of Esanyan, and I had asked him a question. Perhaps, you could help me with the answer. Here, at this ashtalingam, why should we be reminded of death, if death was certain, and we need not fear it. Is it not an actual liberation of our soul, and should we not look forward to it? Pray, help me with this answer, for it may benefit this boy and his parents also."
The grandmother smiled with true happiness, and without any surprise, replied, "Thambi, I see that your clothes and your feet are wet. No wonder you ask these questions as you sit here. You must have come from the cremation grounds and your mind is troubled about death. You sit here, without being able to get your feet to take you to the big temple, to complete your pradakshana. There are lines on your palms, and even palmists can predict your life. So, why worry about death? Just go to a palmist. There are people you meet, who are not related to you, and they go to their homes after work. You lose them for some part of the day. But, they come back. You board a bus to go to Chennai. You do not get the same driver. Yet, in both cases, your friend at work comes back to you and you do your work as usual. Your bus driver is not the same, but you go where you wanted and you arrived correctly."
"So, what is important? The journey or the destination?" She asked, "Your relatives or your friends? Your work that got done or the work that you could not do? Nothing matters. Bhakti and faith are also not real. Accept your tasks, go on completing them. Accept your successes. Go on with your work. Accept your faults. Begin a new journey. Death is certain. That much is certain. Do not go about seeking answers to the riddle of death. It is there. That's all. Seeking death is of no purpose. Not seeking work or your responsibilities is not going to help you avoid death."
Muniswamy stood up happy. He was not certain that he understood it entirely and that he now knew what to do about death or life. He was extremely happy, that he had just sat here, asked questions to Esanyan himself, at his sanctum, and a person came to give him some answers. You had to ask and you had to push. "O Arunachala!" He exclaimed, turning to the grandmother, "Your ways are not at all mysterious. I have seen you and I now know that you hear everyone in this magical path. Give me strength, for I would now run to complete this journey, for I know that you will bless me with new life and a new journey, that will bring me back, to you..."
Muniswamy heard the sadhu call out in prayer at the Esanya Lingam temple. He was almost at the end of the Girivalam path, having walked his way on the fifteen kilometer pradakshana around the sacred Arunachala. After offering his homage at the Esanya Lingam temple, he could complete the walk with prayers at the Annamalai temple. He had been here, on the Girivalam path on a number of occasions in his 65 years, and had been able to complete the entire pradakshana without any problems. He had had no troubles for today, having started from the big temple as early as 5 a.m., and walking slowly he had made it to the Esanya Lingam temple by 9 a.m., before it would get too hot and sultry.
Having come on a number of occasions earlier, he knew of the burial grounds and the cemetery that you had to cross before arriving at the Esanya Lingam temple. Very soon, they were near the cremation grounds. He would have to walk for more than 800 meters at least, bordering the burial grounds. There were two bodies on the pyre, and the smoke was coming their way. It would be better to sit outside, awhile, and go inside the temple only after some time, he felt. Where could he sit? There was a stone-ledge alongside the burial ground, and the families who had come to cremate their loved ones, were gathered nearby. Two local vendors were standing nearby selling flower garlands. He could sit near them.
The flower vendors looked at him curiously. They were not able to place him, as a devotee, or pilgrim or as a member of the families who had gathered here for their loved ones. Muniswamy sat quietly, thinking, watching and wondering. His brother at Chennai had explained about the guardians of the eight directions. He had told him that if you would start at the Indra Lingam, then you would come to a logical end at the cremation grounds near the Esanya Lingam temple. What begins, has to end. If you began on a journey, you had to end it at some point. After you concluded your journey at the Esanya Lingam temple, you walked through the cremation grounds, cleansing yourself of all your actions in this life. You would then go ahead to surrender completely to Annamalai at the big temple. On each occasion that you would enter the great temple after a pradakshana on the Girivalam path, you came out without any baggage from your previous journey.
Muniswamy sat on the edge of the cremation grounds, between the Esanya Lingam temple and the funeral pyres. He watched the families standing near the pyres, and thought, to each one present, they would all return here, one last time. This place was their real destination. Smiling at the truth, Muniswamy went to the Esanya Lingam temple. This was the only one of the ashtalingams that was placed lower in the ground, almost underground. One had to descend a small flight of stairs to reach the Esanya Lingam. This was also supposed to be the largest and the most ancient. The priest was conducting prayers for some families who had come earlier and Muniswamy did not disturb him. He offered his prayers to Shiva who was Esanya himself at this place, and came up to the outer sanctum and sat outside the premises.
The images were extremely overwhelming. He had seen some pilgrims breaking down in tears at the Esanya Lingam temple. Today was not to be one of those days, he thought. His mind went back to some of his earlier visits on completion of the Girivalam pradakshana. Once, there had been an oldish gentleman who had been quoting the sacred Annamalai Venba and had explained some of the verses to him. It had left a profound impact on him. He kept hearing the verses again and again inside his head. He had not understood any of the words at that time, and he did not do so, to this day. He could not even remember the words. But, he could certainly sense the references to Esanya and to the cycle of life and death.
An elderly lady, silver-haired, dressed in a much wrinkled, well-worn saree, with a very largish circular crimson red kumkum bindi, came walking leisurely and sat next to Muniswamy. He greeted her respectfully, as one pilgrim to another, and sat quietly. He did not want to end up talking to her about anything, for he dearly wanted to get back to the big temple and conclude his Girivalam walk with prayers to Annamalai. He looked up at Annamalai and gestured to himself, almost in gratitude. The elderly lady watched his gesture and smiled.
As he feared, she began to speak, "Swamy, you seem to have been here on a number of occasions. Do you come here often? Do you sit here often?" Muniswamy hated when it happened in such a manner. He hated to talk to people when he could be better placed by walking on the Girivalam path. However, he replied, "I have to get back on the pradakshana. But yes, I do come here often. I usually sit here for sometime before going forward to the big temple. Why do you ask?"
She did not reply. She was watching a new family enter the cremation grounds. It was a very small group. Four men carried an old lady and placed the body near an empty pyre-site. The moment they placed the body, they stood away from it and walked away to stand under the shade of a large tree at a distance. Two women had accompanied then, and they stood near the compound wall of the cremation grounds. They did not enter the grounds. They just waited in the shade of another tree. Soon enough, an elderly gentleman came running behind them, with a young boy accompanying him. They stood near the two women. They were all silent. They did not go near the old lady's body that had been placed on the ground. This went on for a while, as Muniswamy watched quietly.
The elderly lady smiled and pointed and said, "O Swamy! Do you see that! They are all alone. Now, perhaps, they understand. As a family, they are all alone at this moment. A member of their family has passed away, and they have just about done their duty. Both those women are sisters, and that elderly man is their brother. They are standing there silently, waiting. Do you know, O Swamy, what is it that they are waiting for? They are waiting for people to come to help them to untie the lady and place her on the funeral pyre. Do you know why they are waiting? Because their caste does not permit them to go near the funeral pyre or to touch the dead body when it is inside the cremation ground. That is why the four who brought the old lady here, placed her on the ground and rushed away. Little do they realise, that they will also come here on their final journey and this is their fate. Yet, they cling on to their caste and pride."
Muniswamy looked at the people and agreed with her. The brother and the two sisters seemed to be waiting for some help to come along. There were similar help at one of the other pyres. They were placing the firewood and dung cakes on the body over there. It looked like it would be well over an hour before they would move over from their task to help out with the old lady who had been placed next to an empty pyre-site. He spoke to the elderly lady, "Who are those two sisters? Are they related to the old lady? Do you know them?"
"Yes! They are related!" exclaimed the elderly lady, "That old lady is my elder sister and those two ladies are her daughters and that elderly man is her son. She had passed away in here sleep and they rushed her here within two hours. They did not inform me, though I am her only sister. They fear that I will claim a share in her property. They did not even bother to take her to a good hospital to see if they could revive her. The medical doctor who gave them the death certificate in ten minutes, remembered me and informed me. That's why I have come here and I sit here."
It was too bad and depressing, thought Muniswamy. This was very unwise. When would people learn? She was their mother, and they made her wait, thus, in her final journey! He sat next to the elderly lady. The final part of the walk on the Girivalam path could wait, he thought. This lady needed his companionship now. She looked so courageous, but could lose control at any moment. They sat together, watching. It was almost high noon now, and the men from the other funeral had completed their tasks. They received some money from the family and came up to the body of the old lady. There was no conversation or instructions. They went about their job silently and without any discussion from the family.
The sisters and brother left the cremation ground by the time the pyre was burning fiercely. They would probably return tomorrow, Muniswamy thought. Or, if there were more bodies coming in, the pyre-helpers would sweep up the bones and ashes and retain them in a mud urn and hand them over to the family if and when someone would come to claim it. The elderly lady stood up as the family left the ground and took Muniswamy's hand for support. He walked with her silently to the funeral pyre and stood while she wept and circled around the burning pyre. She called out to a cremation priest sitting nearly and gave him some money to recite prayers. The sisters and brother had not conducted any prayers for their mother. Muniswamy stood, listening to the prayers, watching, his eyes lost in the leaping flames.
The flames made him weep. He was standing too close. He thought of his father and mother. He had done good by them. He had been able to carry them to their cremation, along with his brother, and his uncles. They had had no second thoughts about bathing them by themselves, dressing them up and conducting all the rites with the help of a regular cremation ground priest. His uncle had been close to his father. He had sat at the cremation grounds at their village near Satyavedu in Andhra Pradesh, holding on the ash-urn for eleven days, without returning home. They had gone to the cremation grounds to ask him to return, but he had refused. some said that his uncle had been talking strangely during those days.
Death was strange, funny and abrupt, thought Muniswamy. The only definite aspect of it was that it was final. It was complete. It got over and there was no way that you could change it. You had to accept it. Perhaps, those two sisters and the brother were more pragmatic. They had come to terms with the passing of their mother immediately. He stood quietly, as the elderly lady completed her prayers. She sat down in the shade of a tree nearby and said, "O Swamy, thank you for your help. I am ok now. I will sit here till the flames go down. You go ahead on the Girivalam and complete your walk. Later, if you feel good about it, please bring me some flower garlands from Annamalai himself so that I can offer them to my sister here, at the Esanya Lingam."
Nodding in agreement, Muniswamy bowed low with folded hands and went back to the Esanya Lingam temple. There was a water tap nearby. He removed all his clothes, right down to his loincloth, and had a quick bath in the cold water. Without drying himself, and with only a dhoti around his waist, he walked in to the outer sanctum. Nobody thought his appearance to be strange. He worshipped at the Esanya Lingam and sat on the stairs, at the last step. The priest had closed the doors to the inner sanctum. Muniswamy could sit silently, contemplating the aspect of Shiva as Esanya. What was this circle of life, he wondered, and why enforce the aspect so vigorously at this temple?
Muniswamy felt his question, being asked directly to Shiva. What could Maheshwara reply to the most profound of questions of humanity, he thought. Why should we be reminded of death when it is futile, for we cannot prevent death? Death was certain. Should one think about it or should one fear death? Is it just a moment in one's life like any other? If so, then one would have to remember that there would be nothing after death. The death of a loved person led to sorrow, but the death of a person in pain and sorrow should mean liberation. Would they take their pain and sorrow with them in their onward journey? Or, was one free of their misery? If one would get free from one's misery, then perhaps, one should look forward to death.
"Questions, questions, O Maheshwara! Who would give me answers?" thought Muniswamy, looking at the peaceful image of Shiva as Esanya. These were questions that nobody could answer, he knew. A family of pilgrims, having come from their walk on the Girivalam, came in to worship at the closed doors of the inner sanctum. There seemed to be three generations, grandparents, parents and a grandson and grand-daughter. The grandson was helping his grandmother down the stairs while the grandfather preferred to sit and crouch on the top step to get a glimpse of the Esanya Lingam. The grand-daughter sat alongside her grandfather. The parents came to sit alongside Muniswamy at the lowest step. Silently, they went about organizing the items for the prayer that they conducted themselves without waiting for the priest.
The grandmother watched everything patiently and turned to her grandson and said, "Muruga, you are a good boy unlike your father who is now lost in rituals. He has walked on the Girivalam path with me and his father on so many occasions but has yet to understand the ONE with no form. What prayer can you render to the ONE who is beyond everything? With which ritual can you bind HIM, who is impossible to contain? Your father will also die as surely I would. Muruga, ask your father to lead his remaining days in being a good teacher to you and your sister."
Muniswamy was amazed. He had asked a single question to Shiva as Esanya and had wondered if he would get an answer. Immediately, here was this lady, who explained that even such questions and rituals were only mundane in our surrender to the great ONE without form. Perhaps, he could be selfish and ask his questions, maybe one question, just one question, to the grandmother. And maybe he would get his answer.
Taking courage, with a silent prayer to Shiva as Esanya, he asked, "Amma, I heard you speak the truth to your grandson. I am sitting here in front of Esanyan, and I had asked him a question. Perhaps, you could help me with the answer. Here, at this ashtalingam, why should we be reminded of death, if death was certain, and we need not fear it. Is it not an actual liberation of our soul, and should we not look forward to it? Pray, help me with this answer, for it may benefit this boy and his parents also."
The grandmother smiled with true happiness, and without any surprise, replied, "Thambi, I see that your clothes and your feet are wet. No wonder you ask these questions as you sit here. You must have come from the cremation grounds and your mind is troubled about death. You sit here, without being able to get your feet to take you to the big temple, to complete your pradakshana. There are lines on your palms, and even palmists can predict your life. So, why worry about death? Just go to a palmist. There are people you meet, who are not related to you, and they go to their homes after work. You lose them for some part of the day. But, they come back. You board a bus to go to Chennai. You do not get the same driver. Yet, in both cases, your friend at work comes back to you and you do your work as usual. Your bus driver is not the same, but you go where you wanted and you arrived correctly."
"So, what is important? The journey or the destination?" She asked, "Your relatives or your friends? Your work that got done or the work that you could not do? Nothing matters. Bhakti and faith are also not real. Accept your tasks, go on completing them. Accept your successes. Go on with your work. Accept your faults. Begin a new journey. Death is certain. That much is certain. Do not go about seeking answers to the riddle of death. It is there. That's all. Seeking death is of no purpose. Not seeking work or your responsibilities is not going to help you avoid death."
Muniswamy stood up happy. He was not certain that he understood it entirely and that he now knew what to do about death or life. He was extremely happy, that he had just sat here, asked questions to Esanyan himself, at his sanctum, and a person came to give him some answers. You had to ask and you had to push. "O Arunachala!" He exclaimed, turning to the grandmother, "Your ways are not at all mysterious. I have seen you and I now know that you hear everyone in this magical path. Give me strength, for I would now run to complete this journey, for I know that you will bless me with new life and a new journey, that will bring me back, to you..."
Shiva, in the aspect of Maha Mrityunjaya
the conqueror of death...
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