I was born on 24th of April 1964. The place was Puri district headquarters hospital where my mother had to undergo a caesarian section to bring me to this world. A child,indeed had eluded her for more than twenty years. The times were never modern and fast in a village. Being childless in a rural setup was always a stigma in those days, and the shadow of such a situation , I think, still looms large over a typical countryside. Fortunately my father and grandfather were broad enough to bear with that and perhaps that was her forte to sustain with. She had started worshipping a lot of gods and took up the fasts etc. connected with those queer worships for more than a decade. Then one day she decided to call it a day-deciding to say good bye to her dear gods .Then she planned to offer her last puja. The god was none else than the Shiva, fastidious but at the same time a wonderful Wish Master.

On that fateful day my father and other elders of the village had accompanied her .The abode of her god was some 15 kms. away from our village and the road to her decade-long pilgrimage to this god ( Kameswar-the god who fulfils the desires) was never a smooth one. It was a summer Monday. The puja was over by 1 pm. There was some arrangement of the Prasad and this was being cooked locally.

My father and others were in the place of cooking when Bou, deeply disillusioned and dissatisfied with the Shiva, had retired to the shade of a nearby banyan tree. It was a big banyan tree and had withstood time till it succumbed to the cyclone in 1999.Some children who had also accompanied the elders to the place of worship, were also playing in the vicinity. It was about 2 PM and she(mother) was deep in her thoughts when suddenly there came an utterance of Hari Om ! The uttering was not entirely unfamiliar from holy men near a place of worship ,but it was so loud and so close that she was baffled . Lo ! Just 10 feet away, there now stood a figure of some six feet or so with a spectacular, shining white beard. He was profusely sweating and by now it became discernible that he had travelled some distance in that scorching sun. Instinct took the upper hand and though so depressed, my mother offered pranam to the sadhu and within a few minutes they were engaged in a discussion. Under that great banyan tree. Soon it dawned on my mother that the sadhu is perhaps aware of her wearies and that too in a very sensible manner. Before she could tell him what made her to offer her last puja to the god that day, the sadhu was all in smiles. The smile, I remember my mother describes, was something very peculiar. The smile was so simple, yet so full and so assuring. Then came the words, “ You need not come again for this puja ,but I foresee you will come here so many times..and yes, next year about this time with your new born baby ! ”.My mother was both shocked and stupefied ,maybe taking the sadhu as another crystal gazer and his words,just another word of solace . But before she could say something a very strange thing happened. All within seconds. There came that Hari Om, this time on a different scale, somewhat sombre, but on a receding note and from some distance. And then happened the most unexpected thing. The sadhu,who was very much present before a few moments was not around.

A sense of panic struck Bou(mother) .This quickly followed a frantic search of that elusive sadhu in the vicinity, but he was not to be found. Vast paddy fields surrounded the site and it was impossible for someone to walk unnoticed. Bou’s God had no temple.No roof over him. Kameswar, as he was called, it was said, had desired to be worshipped like that.Under the sun .With the elements.

Almost a year after that I was born.

The sadhu was never seen thereafter, but my mother had been visiting her god till she could manage-well into her late seventies. Kameswar still has no roof.He has a true Bohemian style in the tradition of Shivas.I had last visited the God when I was in college.