The Traveler

He would have been not more than 80. He was tall and slender. He was bald and his features were quite sharp. He was fair complexioned. He had a slight stoop and walked with measured footsteps leaning on a wooden walking stick. That was Raghavachari.
He lived in a big bungalow with trees and plants amidst a sylvan atmosphere. There was a bit of open ground on one side of the house filled with fine dried river sand. Two or three huge sofas made of cement concrete were placed on the edge of the ground abutting the flower plants. After 5’o clock when the sun’s scorching rays lost the intensity, the old man slowly commenced his trip. Inching his way across the sandy ground he reached one of the sofas and after considerable preparation finally took his seat.
The gardener had watered the plants and also sprayed water on the sofa to keep it cool before the old man arrived. He just sat without any movement. He was constantly looking at the distant horizon almost as on meditation.
What was he thinking? It was difficult to gauge. His sons and daughters were doing well. He was living with his eldest son who was an engineer in the government. All his daughters were married and settled well.
There was a sign of a subtle smile on his face. The smile could have been due to wrinkles on the face. But he was never seen surly or melancholy. His face always had a unique charm and exhibited braveness and the will to live. No one came to him on a courtesy call or for a casual talk while he was sitting alone. Even children avoided meeting him either due to respect or fear. He was a perfect loner who lived in his own inner world without any disturbance.
Raghavachari had worked hard to bring up his six children. He had not studied much but he had honesty and hard work as tools which were given much recognition in his days. He provided good education to his children and his eldest son could attend an engineering school. The son climbed up fast on his career and became the chief engineer of the PWD. With his meager earnings the old man married off his daughters to good grooms who later did well in life.
His first wife died in prime of her youth after providing him a son and a daughter. As per the custom of those times he married again. His second wife was a well natured caring person. She brought peace to his life.
He was taken care of in old age by his wife. Even though he was living with his wife and son, he lead the life of an ascetic. He never involved himself in family affairs. His son was always busy with his own profession and family.
He was provided with an exclusive room in the house by his son. It was a room built by covering the staircase well. There was no standing space inside the room. It was so narrow that only an easy chair and a cot could be placed. But the room had a door in place that could be locked. The old man practically lived in the room all the time excepting when he went out for his evening stroll.
The municipal clock nearby had struck six times. It was the time for Santhya vandhana, the evening prayer. The old man performed the prayer while being seated on the cement chair. He had never missed performing the morning and evening prayers even once in his life.
He slowly got up and his return journey to his den started. Raghavachari had not achieved great things in life. But he had very few qualms on what he missed. His mind was translucent and placid like a lake. He had no desires. He had learnt to look at life in its true perspective.
He was neither elated by success nor affected by failure. He loved all but hated none. He had attained what is supposed to be the highest achievement for a man, the equanimity of mind.
He had completed his assignments well and was ready for the final travel!