( This is fiction..all characters mentioned do not refer to any actual individuals and are purely imaginary.)
The old man was a familiar figure , easily recognised by all the regular pradakshina goers…he had lived in the same spot near the Yama Lingam temple for many years now. This temple is one of the eight lingams on the path around Arunachala, the sacred hill in Tiruvannamalai, Tamilnadu. Worshipped as Lord Shiva for thousands of years, and made world-famous by the presence of the great sage Ramana Maharishi, devotees believe that the practice of pradakshina, walking clockwise around the holy hill, purifies one’s mind and hastens the achievement of moksha.
Between the Yama Lingam and the cemetery, against the wall of an old tomb, he had built himself a makeshift shelter of coconut thatch and corrugated cement.
Master Firehand, as he was called by the locals in their Tamil slang, was a slender old man with a long silver beard and scraggly silver hair around his bald pate. Unlike the other sadhus on the Girivallam Road, he did not wear the orange robes of a sanyasi…just a spotless white dhoti, and a frayed, but clean, sleeveless banian. Every morning at around 11 a.m., after he had his ritual bath in the temple tank, he would appear, along with the other sadhus and beggars/pilgrims, at the entrance to Ramanashramam for the free lunch they served.
He was a good-looking man, maybe seventy five years old, who carried himself with simple dignity, with fine chiselled features and large, lustrous eyes that sparkled with a serene wisdom behind the thick glasses he wore.
This is how I first made his acquaintance – on one of my early visits to Ramanashram some 8 years ago, I had volunteered to help serve the simple but nutritious ashram lunch to the sadhus. When I served Master Firehand in his aluminium plate with a good helping of rice and sambar and vegetables, he said, in perfect English,
“ Thank you, kind sir.”
The ashram staff seemed to know him well and treated him with regard. I wondered who he was and what was his story. I asked the ashram manager why he was called Master Firehand; he laughed and said it was because this old man was famous for conducting funeral rites and cremations for any sadhus/beggars who had no one to perform their last rites. He spent his own money for the firewood and ghee and flowers and incense and paid for the priest to chant the appropriate slokas and lit the funeral pyres himself.
I greeted the tea-shop owner and asked for two glasses of tea….he swished his mug high in the air, poured tea and placed the two small glasses before me with his usual flourish.
I approached Master Firehand hesitantly and asked, “ Sir, will you do me the honour of joining me for a cup of tea?”
He looked at me deeply with his piercing eyes, smiled and said
“ With pleasure.”
Thus began our acquaintance and, over the years, little by little, I learnt his story.
Born into a middle-class Tamilian Brahmin family, Master Firehand grew up in Chennai and studied in Guindy Engineering college. After completing his Masters degree in Metallurgy in Pittsburgh University, he started a steel company in Africa that was the beginning of a string of extremely successful business ventures. By the age of 45, he was a millionaire many times over, living a life of luxury , with business interests thriving all over the world. He had a townhouse in Manhattan, a luxury mansion in London’s swanky West End and holiday homes in the Hamptons, the Bahamas and the South of France.Through his many companies, he owned 3 yachts and 2 Lear Jets and a fleet of expensive cars. At the peak of his business career, his wealth exceeded 10 billion US$. He had a loving and beautiful wife, two wonderful children and the whole world was his oyster.
Which was when his seemingly perfect life fell apart.
The cruel blow of fate happened when he was 55 years old.His wife and children, who were visiting family in India, decided to meet him in their home in the Bahamas for a long-overdue family vacation. The Lear jet carrying them to the Bahamas was caught in a sudden cyclonic storm over the Pacific Ocean….and disappeared!
In spite of all efforts, no trace of the plane was ever found. In one sweeping blow, fate had robbed him of those he loved the most in all the world.
Totally shattered by such a terrible bereavement, the billionaire retreated into a shell of deep despair. Five years drifted by in a hellish depression…his managers kept his businesses going, but the best doctors and psychologists that money could buy could not heal his pain. Lost in a deep and terrible “dark night of the soul” he seriously contemplated ending his own life.
At this point, he received more bad news – his widowed mother, who was 78 years old, had been diagnosed with stage 3 cancer of the pancreas. He rushed to Chennai to be with her…and taking care of her became the reason for him to live.
He liquidated all his businesses and put all the money into a trust fund.
Despite the very best medical care that money could buy, the doctors told him that his mother had, at most, another 2 or 3 years to live. He wanted to take her to Switzerland where she could receive the very best medical care for her remaining lifetime…but she begged him to let her stay in India and asked him to fulfill her life’s ambition of living in Tiruvannamalai.
His parents had always been devotees of Ramana Maharishi and Arunachaleshwara…but he had never been very interested in that path; after his father passed away while he was studying in the USA, he soon got too busy with his life to ever visit the temple town.
Now finally, at the age of 60, he bought a house in Tirruvanamalai and moved there with his ailing mother.One wing of the house was set up as a mini-hospital and he had doctors and nurses attending to his mother 24/7. She, however, was happiest when he took her at frequent intervals to visit the ancient temples around Arunachala and the Ramanashramam.
And then, something happened….in the shadow of the sacred mountain, for the first time in many years, he began to feel a semblance of peace.
“ Arunachala saved me, by Bhagavan Ramana’s grace”, he told me , quite simply and matter-of-fact. “ My mother passed away 2 years after we moved here. I performed her last rites and have lived here ever since, for the last 14 years.”
“ Today, I have no property and no posessions. I live very simply and have very few personal needs. I eat one meal a day and have only 3 sets of clothes. I gave away all my fortune to charities…except for a small fund that I kept to take care of my remaining years. The dividends from that fund come to Ramanashramam…and, whatever small needs I have, the Ashram trustees gladly meet.”
“ Like bearing the expenses for the funerals ?” I asked, smiling.
“ Yes, indeed!” he laughed. “Now finally I understand what Bhagavan Ramana meant when he said – the emperor himself is not so happy as the man who has no wants.”
“So, dear Master Firehand, who will perform your last rites, when that time comes?” I asked.
“Some kind soul like you,” he replied , with a smile on his face and a deep, indescribable peace in his eyes.
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