Unforgettable
On an almost cool morning, the four women taking the Ayurvedic class and Eleanor (the advantages of being a child) set out across the Kerelan countryside to visit Sarath and his family. All the women are special in their own way, each bringing an intelligence and way of being that has added both to the class and the dynamics of personalities within the class. The car meandered through the lush, tropical Kerelan countryside. Coconut palm and banana trees swayed and glistened in the early morning sun as families went about their early morning chores. As we passed through the small towns, most of the shops were closed, though a few fruit shops were, thankfully, opened. We purchased fruits and sweets as gifts for the family – which made the shopkeeper very, very happy. Here, the first sale of the day is extremely auspicious. It is very fortunate if the first sale is in the morning, and even more auspicious if it is a good sale. Sometimes, special deals can be made as the afternoon hour approaches, in the hopes of making that morning sale. All was quiet, the special inward hush at the start of a new day. And my heart was filled with a quiet anticipation.
An hour of driving, a little island of time between our life at the Cultural Center and this new world, making this day somehow not quite of this world – set apart. The driver calls Sarath for specific directions and moments later, as we drive through a small town, we see a familiar figure on a motorcycle in the center of the road. Our knightly escort in modern mode! Quite unexpected, we laugh in delight. We turn between two shops onto a small dirt road and, minutes later, spill out of the car to be warmly greeted by Sarath and his mother and father.
The family home is a large, two story home constructed of a white, stucco like material and tile roof. A garden with some lovely ornamental flowers is between the house and a nearby building used for the preparations of medicines. All is tended with obvious love and tenderness. Plants are also in beds along the front of the house, between the house and the wall that separates the property from the road. We only saw part of the bottom story of the house, most of which was dedicated for seeing and treating patients. The front hall was screened off for consultations, and in the back there was a waiting room and an amply supplied pharmacy. Rows and rows of lovely medicinals, their shining bottles lining glass cases. I was home!
But this we saw later. When we first entered, we went upstairs to the living room. Comfortable chairs and couches line the room with lovely brass tables and other brass boxes and decorations on top. There is a large cabinet with family memorabilia, the testament of family love and joy. Tea is served and Sarath and his father remain to entertain us and make us feel welcomed. Within moments, family photo albums come out and we are treated to those memories that are most precious and meaningful: Sarath’s sister’s engagement and wedding celebrations, stunningly adorable pictures of the first grandchild (now 2), and the treasured family photos of the family and the children as they grew up. The sun was streaming in the large window and conversations were struck in both parts of the room, Eleanor and I listening to and enjoying photographs with Sarath’s father while the other three women poured over albums with Sarath. Albums are exchanged, and somehow, in those few moments of sharing, a bond is formed. We are treated like family, taken into the loving bosom of generosity and grace, sharing that which is most dear. And so it goes.
Sarath’s father is an animated and engaging man who proudly and delightfully shares details about the family and about the medicines he prepares. Pride and gratitude and love for his children and for the way of life given to him pour from his being. But one sees it especially well in those unguarded moments, when, in thinking no one is looking, his gaze falls on his son. There is happiness. Sarath’s mother, also a doctor of great repute, is quiet and self-contained, the expression of her love and devotion in her eyes and in the joy of preparing food for her son’s students. Quiet, self-contained, and yet, there is an intensity and depth about her – aware, immensely and deeply aware, intelligent, generous and humble. Her life is for others; the fullness of her being is a gift, every day.
Tantalizing smells begin to waft their way – after all, it is still morning. Our hearts melt into stunned silence as we round the corner of the room and see a table lain with a gorgeous breakfast feast. We sit and are served by the family. Eggs, toast, rice, several vegetarian dishes, coffee, respect, graciousness, light conversation, and good will all heaped high.
Afterwards, we visit the small building where medicines are made. Here, my little survivalist heart beats wildly. Mortars and pestles of various sizes, some very old and made of a special kind of rock are placed in various locations. There are cutting boards and a large gas stove under a nearby window (one concession to modernity) that is designed to hold large brass or copper vessels of medicinal oil preparations. And then there were lovely, lovely earthenware pots of various sizes where the herbs ferment, bringing out all the medicinal goodness for our use. The earthenware pots are lined with ghee (clarified butter) before the herbs and oils are put inside. The ghee acts as part of the medicine and also lines the inside of the pot to keep the medicines from seeping through the container and to keep the air out. The top is sealed with a thick cap of mud. These earthen pots are very large. The bottom of the pot is V-shaped and buried about 1-2 feet into the earth. This reduces the horizontal contact with the soil, thus reducing the problem of water collecting and seeping into the container. Stunningly simple and intelligent construction. Splendid! And we were treated to various fermented medicinal samplings – some of which were, unlike my remedies, rather tasty!
It was after seeing this building that we went into the downstairs part of the house where the consultation area, waiting area, and pharmacy are. I already mentioned the rows and rows of gleaming medicines, but we were also shown some of the medicinal treasures: palm leaf manuscripts, two inches wide, a foot long, several inches thick with a simple wooden cover containing the slokas and Vedic wisdom passed down through the ages and a book, never published and never will be, of arcane medical knowledge to be safeguarded by the family. As we went outside to the porch, a package had arrived for Sarath. Obviously, it was something special – what a gift to be present at such a moment. For inside, was the official certificate for his completion of his medical program. Though he had finished the program nearly two years ago, it was on this very day that the certificate arrived. How touchingly beautiful it was to see Sarath open this up to show to his parents. And even more beautiful were the looks on their faces that he never saw. How immensely, immensely proud they are. There was a glistening in his father’s eyes and a quiet, complete joy in his mother’s. For a few moments, we all seemed to disappear, and they stood in total togetherness. A rare love, given and reciprocated.
It was all so joyful and so simple. I was just thinking it was time to leave when we learned that we would be able to see the original home and property. And this joy came with the added bonus of being able to meet Sarath’s grandmother who was now living in another home with her other daughter. I was in one car, heading for the homestead while Sarath left in his, stopping to get his grandmother on the way, both properties being a modest distance further down the dirt road. I first met the grandmother when she got out of the car, a small woman whose energy and love filled the air. I have never, ever been as warmly and genuinely embraced and taken to heart on a first meeting as with this generous woman. And this was her greeting to one and all. Nothing was held back. Her love was pure, it was good. There was so little of her and so much of heaven in her. We all held her in a kind of awe, partly through the strength of her own warmth and goodness and partly through the stories Sarath had shared about her and her husband, stories told with such warmth and respect and reverence.
Her presence told part of the story, but the home that she shared with her family told the rest. This, this was a home. It absolutely radiated happiness, even though it has not been lived in for a little while. It is a simple home of one story with an exquisite tile roof made in that lovely style unique to Kerela that seems to have a Chinese or Thai influence. There is lovely stonework gracing the outline of the roof where it meets the porch and large windows on all sides. Outside the house is a shed for cows, the wooden half-wall carved with a simple, homey pattern – one of the many little details that showed the delight the family had in this abode. Beside the cow shed is a deep well, still high with sparkling water. The house is surrounded by many trees and plants bearing fruit and medicines: mango, cashew, neem, so many others – none familiar to me, and thus, all the more intriguing. The construction of the inside of the house is also very fascinating. It is basically four large rooms (kitchen, living room, two bedrooms) surrounding a very large granary! Because the granary is under the ridge of the house, it is quite tall, starting at 5 feet from the ground and going up to the rooftop. It is made of a beautiful dark wood and was once filled with grains. I wonder why it was in the middle of the house and if this was typical of earlier times. Under the granary, occupying the lower area was another space for storage. Two little things captured my imagination as I went into this home. The first was the kitchen which seemed to be the center of the happiness that this home contained. Sometimes, one can enter a room where people are sitting and, despite it being very quiet and everyone is doing their individual things, you know that there had been an argument or some sort of disagreeableness. Other times, you are taken into a room and you are undeservedly and irresistibly swept up into the good will and joy of the people present. This was such a room. There must have been many years of love to build up such a presence in a house. The other little joy of this home was in a cupboard in the first bedroom. Grandmother took a key and unlocked the cupboard. The cupboard was empty except for an old photograph of her mother. Two things struck me. First was the unbelievable strength of character that came from the face of this woman in the photograph. It was a strength of character that one no longer sees, though we are in great need of it. The second was the care she took in locking the cabinet though it was now empty. What had it held, that it still evoked such loving carefulness? We walked around the property – complete, self-sufficient, and waiting … waiting for that next one to come. May that be soon. It was all too much, this perfect little place, and I found Eleanor’s arms around me in her understanding way of hers, as the tears formed in the corners of my eyes.
We took Grandmother back to her home, another jewel in the sun. It was here that the sword of Sarnath’s forefathers is kept. It is a beautiful piece, double edged and fine with a pommel that can be added for use in single handed or double handed battle. But the greatest pleasure was not in seeing the sword, but in seeing Sarath’s face and being while he held it. Here was the symbol of his family, of noble courage, of upright nature, of goodness, of self-sacrifice, of making a difference. It is his legacy and his hope. It is the past, but more importantly, it is the future, his future. We took our leave of Grandmother, and even as I write this, I can still feel her arms around me and the look in her eyes, wishing me well with her heart and her mind. An angel has blessed me, and I will always be the better for it.
Can more goodness be put into this cup? We returned to Sarath’s home where we gathered around the computer to view various items of interest and photos that were on his desktop. A touch of the mischievous side of our noble doctor comes out. There are several medical procedures on his computer with some fascinating surgical procedures, but definitely not everyone’s cup of tea! With a smile and laugh that is particularly Sarath, we are treated to view these various procedures (after all this is a class on medicine), despite the fact that most of us were hiding behind books or only taking occasional and surreptitious looks. The serious and the humorous, all at once, with a big dash of human as well. It was the flip side of the day and brought my feet and my head back to earth. It was, the proper medicine.
But there was a reason for this delay by the computer. Unknown to us, the family had decided at 1:00 that we would also have lunch. So, while we were “watching”, Sarath’s mother and the servant were preparing lunch. A “small” meal that was, to me, a feast of “joyful deliciousness”. This small meal was rice with at least 4 different vegetarian dishes and salads as well as fruit and juice. If the meal had been planned, we were told, it would have been much bigger! This time, Sarath’s father joined us and the taxi driver was included in our splendid repast. (Later, when I commented about this to the taxi driver, I saw how immensely honored and delighted he was by this act of kindness, thoughtfulness, and generosity. For him, this day, too, was one to remember.) Sarath and his mother served us, and after we had eaten all we could, Sarath and his mother ate while we continued our light conversation, a conversation that was made all the more happy and joyful by the presence of one particular student who has an irrepressible sense of humor and way of bringing people together and making people feel genuinely at ease. Every ship abandoned on a desert island should have one like her!
My cup runneth over.
How can one reciprocate such love and such generosity, given completely, given humbly? We are visitors in a distant land, far from any means of returning the joy given, of invitation into our lives and being. But none is expected. It is a total gift. As we drive home, I find the tears are once again welling in the corners of my eyes, and I realize … it is going to be very, very hard to leave India. After two months here, she has come not only into my brain, but into my heart. Her soil, her scent, her gracious people with their soft hearts and brilliant minds – they are rooted in my being I miss my home with its forests and fields, the babbling brooks and the deer. I miss my cherished family and my beloved friends. But when I return, India, too, will be calling.
And as we passed the shop where we bought fruit earlier in the day, I saw that all the produce and sweets were gone. The shopkeeper sat behind his counter in quiet contentment.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
A Consultation with Dr.l Saranthcahdran
A Consultation with Doctor Saranthchadran
Having access to both our Ayruvedic teacher, Saranth (pronounced Sharant), and two excellent Ayurvedic hospitals nearby precipitated visits to the hospital for both Eleanor and me regarding certain chronic medical conditions: Eleanor with her asthma and me with an inability to adequately digest certain kinds of food. We have both been treated by various methods over many years with some success, though we had never tried Ayurvedic medicine, as there are no true Ayurvedic doctors in our area.
We arrived at the hospital at 4:00, leaving our shoes outside the front door, as is customary in most places in India. The hospital was in a home that had been converted into a clinic with some rooms available for long term patient care. At this particular hospital, a new and beautiful wing was under construction for the use of long term patient care. This wing is projected to be completed in 2010 and has two parts. One first walks into a foyer which opens onto a courtyard. The courtyard is surrounded by rooms on all four sides. This is the working part of the new wing where there will be consultation rooms, a pharmacy, a room for yoga (as exercise and meditation are essential parts of wellness), a kitchen area, and other rooms for common use. Then, off to the side is a long veranda with a large open space in front. Rooms for patients are off the veranda. Each room not only has a window facing the front veranda and open area, but has a porch overlooking and accessible to a back garden with a beautiful, breezy view of the river below. It is wonderfully calm and serene, with trees draping over the river and sunlight making dazzling diamond patterns on the ripples.
Eleanor and I, however, went into the original house, now clinic. Inside was a room with a counter for some common medicines as well as a welcoming pharmacist/receptionist. Our doctor teacher was also there to greet us. We sat in chairs to start the process of filling out paper work. (Previously, I asked what kind of identification would be required. Will we need to bring our passports? Sharant looked at me with a smile, one might even say a slightly mischievous grin, and said, “You know who you are? Don’t you? You don’t need to bring anything.” This was my first hint that this was not to be like most other doctor visits!) Paperwork: The paperwork was: our name, country, and age. That’s all. Nothing else necessary.
Next, we went into the consultation room. Here there was a desk, 3 chairs, and a bed off to the side with a few medical instruments like a sphygmomanometer, etc. Sarnath was at the side of the desk while an older, woman doctor was behind the desk. In India, women are treated by women, or at least in the presence of a woman doctor, and men are usually treated by men. In our case, we wanted to consult with Sarnath because of our previous relationship. Having the two physicians was doubly required. First, it was necessary for us to have a woman doctor. Second, Sarnath had finished his studies within the past year or so. Part of the medical training here is a long period of consultation with an expert doctor – this is after residency training. There are often two doctors consulting on a case. So, both doctors listened, asked questions, and examined where needed. It was a dynamic interchange between patient and doctors, with both doctors consulting each others, asking further questions, consulting more, more questions, and then that knowing smile. 20 or 30 minutes later, a note was sent to the pharmacist outside and Eleanor was in the room for a similar experience. Afterwards, the pharmacist comes with our medicines, instructions are given for taking them, dietary and exercise regimens are discussed, and a decision is made for Eleanor to have a medical massage for an old knee injury. While our medical needs were being addressed in a thorough fashion, tea was served. We had to ask a couple of times to find out what dosa we were diagnosed with (kapha, vata, pitha). Others who have consulted with the doctor since then had a similar experience, so this must be something they don’t necessarily tell people. I think most people here (and everywhere) aren’t particularly interested in the details of their type and condition – they just want to be treated. I wonder if there is a philosophical reason for not mentioning it as well. And so ended Day 1. Tomorrow, and for three more days, we would return for Eleanor’s massage. Medicines in hand, we go to pay for our visit.
Cost of the medicines for both of us in US dollars: roughly $6.00 (and this has no profit). Cost of the consultation: free. And this was NOT because we were visitors and part of the Center. All consultations are totally free! It is based on a completely different philosophy of medicine and funding. I asked about this in class the next day. How is it possible to pay for the doctors, pharmacist, clinicians, facility, new facility, and people who prepare the medicines? First, came a recitation of slokas, or ancient Sanskrit texts, that dictated the doctor’s relationship with his patients and his practice. The foremost of these was that a doctor should never go after the money. They should respond to what is before them and not worry about the money – the money will come to them. I have now heard this from three doctors, though I know there are also other clinics in India which operate under a different philosophy. For long term visits, there is a charge for room and board. I am not sure what this charge is, however. (There is a website, though I don’t have the address as yet. The name of the hospital is Kathika Nair Memorial N.S.S. Ayurveda Hospital, Vallamkulam. 689541 Phone: 2609054. I think the last word is the name of the town in which it is located.) This clinic is completely traditional in its philosophy, though it uses many, many modern technological methods when necessary as well.
The history of this clinic is as follows. 8 generations back, there was a king with a young son. The king died (it may have not been natural – but I’m not sure about this) and there was an insurgency by various parties for power. The young prince, whose life was in danger, was whisked away and protected by a family. When the prince came of age and gained his rightful inheritance, he rewarded the family with a large tract of land. It is upon this land that the family lives, and the proceeds of the agricultural products of the land supports the family. (He wears a necklace with tiger’s teeth on it that is discreetly tucked under his shirt, a family heirloom from long ago. His sister also has one. There is also a rare double edged sword of noble lineage that remains in the family. The only other one like it is in a museum.) They have no financial need, then or now, and their time and intelligence goes to the medical vocation which they have safeguarded and upon which they have expanded since that early time. So, the physicians do not need and do not ask for money. It is against their principles to have more than what they need. And because they cultivate many of the herbs and make many of their herbal preparations by hand and by the timeless methods of old, they prefer to keep their practice small … and perfect. The house and land was donated by another family to be used as a hospital. The new clinic is being funded by a corporation. And so it is. A stream of patients quietly comes through the door, care and intense concentration is given to each one, medicines are given, a few rupees are exchanged (sometimes), and the day proceeds. It is all so … human, so personal and warm. There was a woman from London at the clinic. She had been there for several months and I happened to be there when she was leaving to go back home. It was truly like leaving a family. Everyone came out to see her off, from the servant to the doctors, in a quiet and loving way. All were wishing her well. It was clear that she did not want to leave, and I was moved to see how her health had been nurtured not only physically, but socially and emotionally as well. And so, when she returns to her home and has to face the daily duties and needs once again, she will, in times of difficulty, close her eyes and think of all those caring people and be given a fresh strength in the core of her being. This is a gift beyond mere physical health. It was … beautiful.
The next day, Eleanor and I returned to the clinic for her medical massage. She was escorted to the massage room which has a large wooden massage table. The table is made of a specific kind of wood that has medicinal properties – so the oils, the massage, and the table itself are all helping the patient in different ways. It is lovely, large, dark wood table with little channels on the sides to catch any extraneous oil, keeping everything clean and tidy. In many kinds of Ayurvedic massage, large amounts of oil are used. In Eleanor’s case, she was receiving the kind of massage known as a Powder Massage (using Western words). She sat on the table (mostly because she wanted to watch) with her pants leg rolled up. First, oil is gently placed on the affected air and rubbed in, rather gently. Then, hot towels are fanned on and around the area. This is to prepare the skin for receiving the heated oil. They want maximum absorption as well as protection of the skin from too much of a shock from the heat. Then, hot oil is rubbed into the affected area. The masseuse is medically expert – more like a physical therapist. She manipulates the area, re-aligning and strengthening the muscles and ligaments through various manipulations. Next, a poultice of chopped herbs, especially prepared for Eleanor’s condition, is placed in a cloth. This forms a hard ball which is then firmly pounded into the affected area. More massage, more firm pounding, and 30-40 minutes later, off she goes.
Our doctor friend was a little less tired today. The busy part of his day is in the morning, beginning at 8:00, when most patients choose to come. Then, he comes from 1:30-4:00 to teach our class, and returns to the hospital to consult with patients until 6:00 or 7:00. Monday through Saturday, every week. Sundays, he returns to his family home to be with his parents and grandmother, with occasional visits to his sister in Kochi. I was most fortunate in that it was at the end of the day and no patients had come at that time. We spoke for the entire time Eleanor was getting treated, and, once Eleanor returned, we talked for another hour or more afterwards. The topics of conversation ranged from medical philosophy and preparation of medicines, to the cosmological cycles of time, to education, to family history, to the various gunas (sattva, raja, tamas), to what yoga was and was not, to japa yoga and invocatory methods, to the duty of the child to expand upon the knowledge given by the parents, to the choice of colleges. (That was interesting, too. It seems that, after several years of private school education, his father had him go to government school! He told him two things. First of all, that he must understand all kinds of people in order to get along in life. Second, that he was to remain true to himself, no matter where, no matter what. This was in response to Eleanor’s choice of education closer to home – which he appreciated - and his unsaid message to her was the realization that no matter where you are, you can get what you need from it, but it is your responsibility to do so. He also told her that many of his high school colleagues are now heads of corporations and/or hold political office. There are no limitations.) And so the conversation went. Back to medicine, philosophy, family, and round again. It was riveting. It was stimulating. It was challenging. It was … wonderful. Back and forth, back and forth, the ebb and flow of ideas, questions, knowledge. The sun was getting low, and it slowly dawned on me that, for Indian etiquette, it was up to me to leave. There would be no gentle suggestions or way of knowing when we were finished. I was rather embarrassed when I finally realized this, thinking the poor man was sitting there hoping desperately that I would leave. But again, that western thinking was not at all the case. We were here. It was all meant to be. The time was valued by all. And, the joy of the end, was finding out that our class would be able to meet his family on the weekend in their family home!
The next day, the entire class went to the hospital for a tour. I had already seen the office and the new wing and massage area, but we were also given a tour of the room where medicines were made. I was, of course, in seventh heaven. There were all these lovely, lovely roots and tins filled with herbs and saps. And that special aroma that I love so much - the aroma of medicinal herbs cooking in oil. I realize that not many may share this sentiment, but for me, it was like coming home. There was the fire (a gas fire, not wood) and a huge copper vessel, brimming with herbs, some pasty substance (looked yeasty, but I’m not sure at all), and bubbly oil. A woman was there, watching a stirring, making sure it was boiling “just so” and for just the right amount of time. We also had an hour tour of all the medicinal plants growing wild in the overgrown yard and by the river. Again, my memories of my internship with medicinal herbs brought back the sweet nostalgia of home. But here, nothing was familiar. The properties were the same. The taste of the herbs or roots that went with certain treatments were the same, but none of the plants were the same. I was in completely new territory. I didn’t take notes, knowing that the plants that grew here may not be hearty in Indiana , but I loved hearing and touching the plants, of listening to all the properties, when to harvest, which part, what care had to be taken to de-toxify certain roots before using them as medicine, and so forth. After an hour, we went to the neighbor’s house. Upon entering, this spry man in a doti bounced forward to eagerly greet us. He was absolutely full of energy and enthusiasm. We were given a little tour of the front part of the garden, and, in a little while, were invited inside for some freshly squeezed lime and water – limes right off the tree. His wife, a school teacher, came in around that time and the conversation buzzed around – light, homely, loving. This man had been the manager of a bank. Upon retirement from a position of great responsibility, he began cultivating his garden. And it is stunning. After lime juice, we got a further tour of his garden – this time the side and back. It is filled with medicinals (inspired by proximity to the hospital) and fruits and vegetables. Everything is beautifully tended, organically, and his side yard is terraced down to the river. He was so animated and gracious, so purely happy and simple. AND, besides being an avid gardener, he was a master fisherman. AH!! We explained. Eleanor rubs her hands in glee – weapons to be seen! SO a demonstration of the various methods of fishing that he has perfected: trident, spear, a fabulous looking crossbow whose arrow (no feathers) has a string attached to the bow for retrieval, fascinating tips for catching different kinds of fish, nets, etc. etc. etc. Again, the sun begins to set. Again, it is up to us to leave. Oh, so reluctantly. Somewhere in the leaving process, Eleanor is whisked away for her massage. The others left, I spoke a bit more with Sarnath, and then, back home for dinner – and anticipation of going out to Sarnath’s home tomorrow.
Having access to both our Ayruvedic teacher, Saranth (pronounced Sharant), and two excellent Ayurvedic hospitals nearby precipitated visits to the hospital for both Eleanor and me regarding certain chronic medical conditions: Eleanor with her asthma and me with an inability to adequately digest certain kinds of food. We have both been treated by various methods over many years with some success, though we had never tried Ayurvedic medicine, as there are no true Ayurvedic doctors in our area.
We arrived at the hospital at 4:00, leaving our shoes outside the front door, as is customary in most places in India. The hospital was in a home that had been converted into a clinic with some rooms available for long term patient care. At this particular hospital, a new and beautiful wing was under construction for the use of long term patient care. This wing is projected to be completed in 2010 and has two parts. One first walks into a foyer which opens onto a courtyard. The courtyard is surrounded by rooms on all four sides. This is the working part of the new wing where there will be consultation rooms, a pharmacy, a room for yoga (as exercise and meditation are essential parts of wellness), a kitchen area, and other rooms for common use. Then, off to the side is a long veranda with a large open space in front. Rooms for patients are off the veranda. Each room not only has a window facing the front veranda and open area, but has a porch overlooking and accessible to a back garden with a beautiful, breezy view of the river below. It is wonderfully calm and serene, with trees draping over the river and sunlight making dazzling diamond patterns on the ripples.
Eleanor and I, however, went into the original house, now clinic. Inside was a room with a counter for some common medicines as well as a welcoming pharmacist/receptionist. Our doctor teacher was also there to greet us. We sat in chairs to start the process of filling out paper work. (Previously, I asked what kind of identification would be required. Will we need to bring our passports? Sharant looked at me with a smile, one might even say a slightly mischievous grin, and said, “You know who you are? Don’t you? You don’t need to bring anything.” This was my first hint that this was not to be like most other doctor visits!) Paperwork: The paperwork was: our name, country, and age. That’s all. Nothing else necessary.
Next, we went into the consultation room. Here there was a desk, 3 chairs, and a bed off to the side with a few medical instruments like a sphygmomanometer, etc. Sarnath was at the side of the desk while an older, woman doctor was behind the desk. In India, women are treated by women, or at least in the presence of a woman doctor, and men are usually treated by men. In our case, we wanted to consult with Sarnath because of our previous relationship. Having the two physicians was doubly required. First, it was necessary for us to have a woman doctor. Second, Sarnath had finished his studies within the past year or so. Part of the medical training here is a long period of consultation with an expert doctor – this is after residency training. There are often two doctors consulting on a case. So, both doctors listened, asked questions, and examined where needed. It was a dynamic interchange between patient and doctors, with both doctors consulting each others, asking further questions, consulting more, more questions, and then that knowing smile. 20 or 30 minutes later, a note was sent to the pharmacist outside and Eleanor was in the room for a similar experience. Afterwards, the pharmacist comes with our medicines, instructions are given for taking them, dietary and exercise regimens are discussed, and a decision is made for Eleanor to have a medical massage for an old knee injury. While our medical needs were being addressed in a thorough fashion, tea was served. We had to ask a couple of times to find out what dosa we were diagnosed with (kapha, vata, pitha). Others who have consulted with the doctor since then had a similar experience, so this must be something they don’t necessarily tell people. I think most people here (and everywhere) aren’t particularly interested in the details of their type and condition – they just want to be treated. I wonder if there is a philosophical reason for not mentioning it as well. And so ended Day 1. Tomorrow, and for three more days, we would return for Eleanor’s massage. Medicines in hand, we go to pay for our visit.
Cost of the medicines for both of us in US dollars: roughly $6.00 (and this has no profit). Cost of the consultation: free. And this was NOT because we were visitors and part of the Center. All consultations are totally free! It is based on a completely different philosophy of medicine and funding. I asked about this in class the next day. How is it possible to pay for the doctors, pharmacist, clinicians, facility, new facility, and people who prepare the medicines? First, came a recitation of slokas, or ancient Sanskrit texts, that dictated the doctor’s relationship with his patients and his practice. The foremost of these was that a doctor should never go after the money. They should respond to what is before them and not worry about the money – the money will come to them. I have now heard this from three doctors, though I know there are also other clinics in India which operate under a different philosophy. For long term visits, there is a charge for room and board. I am not sure what this charge is, however. (There is a website, though I don’t have the address as yet. The name of the hospital is Kathika Nair Memorial N.S.S. Ayurveda Hospital, Vallamkulam. 689541 Phone: 2609054. I think the last word is the name of the town in which it is located.) This clinic is completely traditional in its philosophy, though it uses many, many modern technological methods when necessary as well.
The history of this clinic is as follows. 8 generations back, there was a king with a young son. The king died (it may have not been natural – but I’m not sure about this) and there was an insurgency by various parties for power. The young prince, whose life was in danger, was whisked away and protected by a family. When the prince came of age and gained his rightful inheritance, he rewarded the family with a large tract of land. It is upon this land that the family lives, and the proceeds of the agricultural products of the land supports the family. (He wears a necklace with tiger’s teeth on it that is discreetly tucked under his shirt, a family heirloom from long ago. His sister also has one. There is also a rare double edged sword of noble lineage that remains in the family. The only other one like it is in a museum.) They have no financial need, then or now, and their time and intelligence goes to the medical vocation which they have safeguarded and upon which they have expanded since that early time. So, the physicians do not need and do not ask for money. It is against their principles to have more than what they need. And because they cultivate many of the herbs and make many of their herbal preparations by hand and by the timeless methods of old, they prefer to keep their practice small … and perfect. The house and land was donated by another family to be used as a hospital. The new clinic is being funded by a corporation. And so it is. A stream of patients quietly comes through the door, care and intense concentration is given to each one, medicines are given, a few rupees are exchanged (sometimes), and the day proceeds. It is all so … human, so personal and warm. There was a woman from London at the clinic. She had been there for several months and I happened to be there when she was leaving to go back home. It was truly like leaving a family. Everyone came out to see her off, from the servant to the doctors, in a quiet and loving way. All were wishing her well. It was clear that she did not want to leave, and I was moved to see how her health had been nurtured not only physically, but socially and emotionally as well. And so, when she returns to her home and has to face the daily duties and needs once again, she will, in times of difficulty, close her eyes and think of all those caring people and be given a fresh strength in the core of her being. This is a gift beyond mere physical health. It was … beautiful.
The next day, Eleanor and I returned to the clinic for her medical massage. She was escorted to the massage room which has a large wooden massage table. The table is made of a specific kind of wood that has medicinal properties – so the oils, the massage, and the table itself are all helping the patient in different ways. It is lovely, large, dark wood table with little channels on the sides to catch any extraneous oil, keeping everything clean and tidy. In many kinds of Ayurvedic massage, large amounts of oil are used. In Eleanor’s case, she was receiving the kind of massage known as a Powder Massage (using Western words). She sat on the table (mostly because she wanted to watch) with her pants leg rolled up. First, oil is gently placed on the affected air and rubbed in, rather gently. Then, hot towels are fanned on and around the area. This is to prepare the skin for receiving the heated oil. They want maximum absorption as well as protection of the skin from too much of a shock from the heat. Then, hot oil is rubbed into the affected area. The masseuse is medically expert – more like a physical therapist. She manipulates the area, re-aligning and strengthening the muscles and ligaments through various manipulations. Next, a poultice of chopped herbs, especially prepared for Eleanor’s condition, is placed in a cloth. This forms a hard ball which is then firmly pounded into the affected area. More massage, more firm pounding, and 30-40 minutes later, off she goes.
Our doctor friend was a little less tired today. The busy part of his day is in the morning, beginning at 8:00, when most patients choose to come. Then, he comes from 1:30-4:00 to teach our class, and returns to the hospital to consult with patients until 6:00 or 7:00. Monday through Saturday, every week. Sundays, he returns to his family home to be with his parents and grandmother, with occasional visits to his sister in Kochi. I was most fortunate in that it was at the end of the day and no patients had come at that time. We spoke for the entire time Eleanor was getting treated, and, once Eleanor returned, we talked for another hour or more afterwards. The topics of conversation ranged from medical philosophy and preparation of medicines, to the cosmological cycles of time, to education, to family history, to the various gunas (sattva, raja, tamas), to what yoga was and was not, to japa yoga and invocatory methods, to the duty of the child to expand upon the knowledge given by the parents, to the choice of colleges. (That was interesting, too. It seems that, after several years of private school education, his father had him go to government school! He told him two things. First of all, that he must understand all kinds of people in order to get along in life. Second, that he was to remain true to himself, no matter where, no matter what. This was in response to Eleanor’s choice of education closer to home – which he appreciated - and his unsaid message to her was the realization that no matter where you are, you can get what you need from it, but it is your responsibility to do so. He also told her that many of his high school colleagues are now heads of corporations and/or hold political office. There are no limitations.) And so the conversation went. Back to medicine, philosophy, family, and round again. It was riveting. It was stimulating. It was challenging. It was … wonderful. Back and forth, back and forth, the ebb and flow of ideas, questions, knowledge. The sun was getting low, and it slowly dawned on me that, for Indian etiquette, it was up to me to leave. There would be no gentle suggestions or way of knowing when we were finished. I was rather embarrassed when I finally realized this, thinking the poor man was sitting there hoping desperately that I would leave. But again, that western thinking was not at all the case. We were here. It was all meant to be. The time was valued by all. And, the joy of the end, was finding out that our class would be able to meet his family on the weekend in their family home!
The next day, the entire class went to the hospital for a tour. I had already seen the office and the new wing and massage area, but we were also given a tour of the room where medicines were made. I was, of course, in seventh heaven. There were all these lovely, lovely roots and tins filled with herbs and saps. And that special aroma that I love so much - the aroma of medicinal herbs cooking in oil. I realize that not many may share this sentiment, but for me, it was like coming home. There was the fire (a gas fire, not wood) and a huge copper vessel, brimming with herbs, some pasty substance (looked yeasty, but I’m not sure at all), and bubbly oil. A woman was there, watching a stirring, making sure it was boiling “just so” and for just the right amount of time. We also had an hour tour of all the medicinal plants growing wild in the overgrown yard and by the river. Again, my memories of my internship with medicinal herbs brought back the sweet nostalgia of home. But here, nothing was familiar. The properties were the same. The taste of the herbs or roots that went with certain treatments were the same, but none of the plants were the same. I was in completely new territory. I didn’t take notes, knowing that the plants that grew here may not be hearty in Indiana , but I loved hearing and touching the plants, of listening to all the properties, when to harvest, which part, what care had to be taken to de-toxify certain roots before using them as medicine, and so forth. After an hour, we went to the neighbor’s house. Upon entering, this spry man in a doti bounced forward to eagerly greet us. He was absolutely full of energy and enthusiasm. We were given a little tour of the front part of the garden, and, in a little while, were invited inside for some freshly squeezed lime and water – limes right off the tree. His wife, a school teacher, came in around that time and the conversation buzzed around – light, homely, loving. This man had been the manager of a bank. Upon retirement from a position of great responsibility, he began cultivating his garden. And it is stunning. After lime juice, we got a further tour of his garden – this time the side and back. It is filled with medicinals (inspired by proximity to the hospital) and fruits and vegetables. Everything is beautifully tended, organically, and his side yard is terraced down to the river. He was so animated and gracious, so purely happy and simple. AND, besides being an avid gardener, he was a master fisherman. AH!! We explained. Eleanor rubs her hands in glee – weapons to be seen! SO a demonstration of the various methods of fishing that he has perfected: trident, spear, a fabulous looking crossbow whose arrow (no feathers) has a string attached to the bow for retrieval, fascinating tips for catching different kinds of fish, nets, etc. etc. etc. Again, the sun begins to set. Again, it is up to us to leave. Oh, so reluctantly. Somewhere in the leaving process, Eleanor is whisked away for her massage. The others left, I spoke a bit more with Sarnath, and then, back home for dinner – and anticipation of going out to Sarnath’s home tomorrow.
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