Periyava

 Even after decades, this memory does not fade. It still returns with the same intensity — not as a story, but as a reminder of a presence that continues to define my life. Many of you have heard this before, yet I feel drawn to write it again — because some experiences are not meant to be contained or forgotten. My apologies, if this sounds repetitive. I simply can’t have enough of this!

During my days at Guindy Engineering College, each month had one purpose that mattered above everything else: travelling to Kanchipuram just to see Maha Periyava. Nothing elaborate; no conversations; no petitions. I would simply stand before him… wait for that one look… that subtle lift of his right hand. That brief moment was enough to carry me through another month of life. I never felt the need to introduce myself or seek favours for myself — no prayers for marks, careers, comforts. I never wanted to reduce him into someone responsible for delivering my worldly checklist. His very presence was my reassurance.

And that hasn’t changed even today. I don’t recite shlokas to him. I don’t perform Anusha pooja. I don’t consciously “pray”. Yet, deep inside, there has always been a quiet certainty — that I walk through life under his gaze. Whether I remember him or get lost in my mundane routines, I know he is around. He doesn’t need my rituals. I don’t need reminders. The connection just is.

Years passed… life happened… and the time came when I lay in a chemotherapy ward — fragile in body, but trying hard to keep my spirit unshaken. That day, an overwhelming wave of longing rose from deep within… a longing not for a cure, not for a promise… but only for a pinch of Kunkuma prasadam from Periyava’s Adhishthanam. The yearning flooded my chest and choked my breath. Perhaps it was the silence of many years of missing him. Still, I held myself back — for even then, I did not want to ask. I didn’t want to turn him into a wish-fulfiller now, after all these years.

Three days later, Srini — a friend from Singapore, a Madhwa, someone with whom I had never discussed Periyava — walked into the hospital, shaken to see me in that state. He placed a rolled sheet in my hands. I removed the band. It was Periyava’s photograph.

And then — without a word of explanation — he handed me a packet of Kunkumam. From the Adhishthanam. Not just “temple prasadam”. Not some general offering from Kanchipuram.

The exact thing I had hesitated to even consciously desire.

No orchestrated prayer. No outward devotion. No communication. Yet Grace arrived — quietly, directly, unmistakably.

What do we call this? Coincidence? Probability? Luck?

I don’t feel the need to label it anymore.

It transpires that Srini was in Bangalore, when he hard about me. Apparently he was shocked, and was disturbed. That his when his friend was leaving on pilgrimage – to Kanchi, of all places. He had told them about me, and asked to bring back “temple prasadam”. Never mentioned anything about Periyava. Nor did Srini ever guess that I had immense attraction towards Periyava. Now, this friend of his goes all over in Kanchi, and brings back the photo of Periyava and Kunkumam prasadam – right from the Adhirshtaanam, nowhere else!! It took less than 72 hours for that odd wish of mine to turn into reality!

Some relationships with the divine do not fit the vocabulary of religion… they simply endure. They operate beneath thought, beyond words, untouched by whether we pray or not.

I may not constantly think of Him.

But He has never once stopped thinking of me.

“என்னை நினைந்தருளும் இறைவா

நானெப்போது நினைப்பேன்?”

— Thiruvasagam

“O Lord, You think of me always —

when have I ever truly thought of You?”

—   Dilip