SCALE THE MOUNTAIN

 

26. SCALE THE MOUNTAIN

Experiences are indeed our teachers. We never learn from the class room what our experiences from day- to- day life teach us. If we have to learn about the land we have to go about the land.

In my childhood, there was one person in our midst with a passion for travel, who traversed many lands as no one else did, and who feasted us, from his rare and memorable experiences in many lands: S K Pottekkat, the Jnanapith awardee.

There was a reason to remember Pottekkatt all of a sudden. Voyaging in a luxury liner from Cyprus to Jerusalem, I was surprised to find in their library a book in Malayalam. Probably a book left by one of their Malayalee employees: a travalogue titled ‘Indonesian Diary’ by S K Pottekkatt. Unexpectedly getting such a gift at an unexpected time, I happily read it from cover to cover in one sitting. It was when I thought about the book and what it said that I was fascinated about the basic tenets of travel. If you visit a land, learn about the land and its people. See folk dances, listen to folk music, visit museums and other venues of culture. And interact with the local people. Speak to them.

I recall. I too had gone a hundred times to many parts of the world. I had tried to read and learn about the land I was visiting. But it was the feel of the land which taught me that the more important learning was from experience, rather than from reading books.

The scene was the Larnaca airport, Cyprus. Lakshmi, my wife, and I were going to Athens. Before taking the baggage to the aircraft, it was put on the x-ray channel as usual. The policeman inspecting the baggage then called out aloud: ‘pisthal, pisthal’.

Suddenly a group of gun trotting cops ran up and made a circle around me. Seeing that I was enjoying the development, the head of the group looked at me confusedly. Some passengers also started crowding there to watch the scene. Probably they wanted to know how the pistol got into the bag. I categorically told the police there was no pistol inside. But the cops were not convinced. They made a thorough search of the bag and ultimately came up, triumphantly, with something that looked like a pistol. They cast me a look which seemed to tell me that the game was up.

It was with much difficulty that I convinced them that it was not a pistol but a cigarette lighter. Though they finally realised it was an innocuous cigarette lighter, they did not return it to me.

Though the Cyprus incident turned out to be fun, for me and the police, the incident in Israel had almost become serious. At the time of disembarkation from the ship, the Israeli police who came for inspection stopped me along with my wife. While others left the ship without any hassle, we were not allowed to get down to the dock. My enquiries about the reason for this elicited no response. I mentioned Indian Embassy but that also did not make any magical impact. I realised that it would not be a comfortable thing to stay back alone in the ship after all other passengers had disembarked. I insisted on getting an explanation for not permitting us to leave. Though initially they ignored my entreaties and protests, they appeared to relent finally. Soon one cop who appeared to be their senior officer took me to a corner and asked me, in dead seriousness: ‘Tell me the truth. Who are you? One after the other, you have gone eight times to Arab nations. ’

Oh, that is the reason. I felt relieved. It was then that I realised that passengers who visited Arab countries were anathema to Israeli police. He questioned me this way and that way. Even then he was far from convinced. Then another officer came and asked me: ‘Tell us the truth. Whom do you want to meet here?’ He did not believe me when I said we came to visit Calvary and Bethlehem.

It was then that he detected an identity card accidentally placed inside my passport. It was a photo ID which recorded me as a guest of the U N Secretary General. That was a card I received for participation in the U N Habitat Summit. Seeing the card, a change came over him abruptly. They were pleased to know that my mission was construction of houses for poor people. Profusely apologizing for detaining us and causing us discomfort, they permitted us to go, accompanying us up to the bus waiting for us at the dock.

Those waiting for us in the bus, who were wondering what was happening in the ship, heaved a sigh of relief when they saw us.

There are also occasions when experiences turn out to be flops. This had happened both in our country and abroad. One such incident was in Kolkata, the beehive of agitations and demonstrations during the close of the seventies. I had joined the State Bank of India as a Probationary Officer. One day I was going from Esplanade to Writers’ Building when I came across a big, flag waving, slogan shouting demonstration that mostly filled the entire road. Unable to cross the road, I waited on a side for some time. Fortunately, there was a gap in the procession briefly, making use of which several people ran across the road. I too followed suit, moving across the road when something happened right in front of me. The processionists from the rear who had come up by that time, caught hold of one of those crossing over and thrashed him and poked him with sticks. I too would have been at their receiving end, but a sudden idea struck me. Raising my fist and shouting slogans, ‘chalbo na, chalbo na,’ I too went along with the procession. I had to walk about a kilometer before parting ways with the processionists.

We will understand what we hear and what we see only when we experience them. It is like something bursting in our mind. I had heard this somewhere. Saint Paul was in his apostolic mission in Greece. The people of Greece who believed in Gods like Zeus, wielder of thunderbolts, were not willing to lend their ears to him. Realising that he had to speak their language to make them understand, St Paul found a way out.

There was a temple in Athens frequented by the Greeks. The temple of the Unknown God (Agnostos Theos). Once while speaking at the Acropolis Paul told them: Don’t you believe in an U  nknown God? I will take you to him. Thus he led the Greek people to the Lord in Heaven.

When the guide showed me the temple of the Unknown God from Acropolis, the story that I had heard surfaced in my memory from nowhere.

Anyone can have experiences. It is the rarity of the experience that is the gift of a journey. For passing on this experience to others one would require a special faculty. It was this faculty that was the soul of S K Pottekkatt’s travelogues. I realised this once again when I accidentally picked up that Malayalam book in the ship on my voyage from Cyprus. I felt great reverence to the storyteller of many lands who, climbing step by step on the stairway to unique experiences, finally reached the coveted peak of Jnanpith.

German philosopher and philologist, Nietzsche, had said: I am a wanderer and mountain-climber. In the journey up the mountain, abandon the paths you have covered. And if all ladders henceforth fail you, then must you learn to mount upon your own head.

Thirunavuk Arasu of Periya Puranam not only said so but also did so. He climbed Mount Kailas on his head.

It was when I felt that it was time to stop my wanderings in the world that Pottekkat came to remind me that there were still many places to go to . And that gave me room for one more wish, outlandish, though, it may sound: holding the hand of Nietzsche, climb Mount Alps on my head.