Ushanna Tata (Tata) was the inaugural individual to accompany Guruji during the relocation of Kala Ashram in 1989. Affectionately referred to as Tata, he hailed from the Koli caste and possessed an exceptional knowledge of flora, encompassing plants, fruits, vegetables, and the intricacies of the jungle. His unparalleled expertise extended to the morphology of trees, optimal storage methods, and the precise timing for the consumption of various produce.
Koli community was a group deeply intertwined with the land’s bounty of fruits and flowers. They held the significant responsibility of managing all the fruits harvested from the forests and orchards. Each morning, without fail, they would deliver fresh flowers to households for daily worship—a task so ingrained in their routine that it became almost second nature to them.
With the gradual change of time, their role extended beyond the orchards and into the workings of the Revenue Department, particularly in the auctioning of forest resources. The Kolis played a crucial role in these auctions, where their community actively participated in the bidding process. Once they secured the rights, they meticulously distributed the resources among themselves. After the harvest, their first priority was always to settle the revenue dues in full. Only after fulfilling this obligation did, they distribute the remaining earnings among the families.
Tata, significantly older than Guruji, always addressed him with profound respect. Their relationship was extraordinary, characterized by a unique blend of respect, affection and frequent banter. Guruji deeply valued Tata, while Tata harbored a deep attachment to Guruji. Initially, Tata was entrusted with the role of caretaker for the ashram grounds. He diligently planted hedges along the perimeter and various species of cacti, paying meticulous attention to spacing and demonstrating exceptional precision in his tree planting. Many of the trees now flourishing in the ashram were planted and tenderly nurtured by Tata.
Tata adhered to his daily regimen with unmatched discipline. Rising at 4 AM with precise regularity, he immersed himself in his responsibilities—tending to his pet poultry, sweeping the ashram premises, cleaning his modest kitchen, and nurturing his cherished tulsi sapling. His day was characterized by meticulous care for the cows and contributions to the ashram’s trees, methodically collecting and storing fallen twigs. Each morning, he would bathe and then offer water to the sun before attending to the tulsi plant. Clad in a freshly washed off-white kurta and dhoti, he would light his chulha and prepare his favorite tea and toast for breakfast, which he savored.
Tata had an occasional fondness for alcohol, though he indulged sparingly. Guruji, with his sharp perception, could always detect when Tata was in low spirits and would, with an angry yet concerned expression, chew out him in the local Adilabad manner, “Hazam nahin hoti, to pita kaiku – buddha maru.” Yet, the very next morning, Tata would be found seated beside Guruji, engaging in a conversation as if nothing had transpired. As a child, I observed these peculiar dynamics quite a few times, unable to fully comprehend the enigmatic chemistry between them.
Occasionally, their disagreements would escalate to such a degree that Guruji would instruct Tata to return to his home. On one memorable occasion, their argument reached a dramatic crescendo, prompting Tata to depart and remain unseen for several days. Amma, with a bag in hand, would journey to the ashram bearing Guruji’s tiffin, regaling us with tales of how she found Tata sitting contemplatively on a bridge each day, lamenting, “Guruji naku elli po ani cheppindu” (Guruji told me to leave). With patience and a touch of diplomacy, she managed to persuade Tata to return, reminding of Guruji’s inherently perplexing nature. Swayed by her reasoning, Tata came back without further protest. Before long, he and Guruji were sharing a smoke and engaging in conversation about some trivial matter, as if their previous quarrel had never occurred.
Tata’s stubborn disposition and ongoing discord with his wife eventually led them to live apart after a few years of marriage. Nevertheless, she would make monthly visits to the ashram, frequently stirring up conflict. Guruji, with a touch of humor, would remark, “Isko dekh k kahan se lagta hai, k yeh sasakhta nahin hai. (“who would ever guess that she could be oppressed).
On occasions when he was unwell, his wife would bring him meals, often chiding him, “Naku cheppa leva – Nenu sacchi poiyana kuda niku annam pethanu” (Why didn’t you tell me? Even if I were dead, I’d still bring you food). Guruji often remarked with admiration, “Despite preparing his meals three times a day, Tata always seems to find ample time for everything. I don’t know how he does it! And he insists on cooking fresh food every day, never eating yesterday’s meals.”
Tata had a knack for experimentation, and occasionally, his curiosity would rope in unsuspecting visitors. Once, a guest at the ashram, eager to learn about Tata’s way of life, teamed up with him to cook a novel sabzi using the leaves of the Sadabahar plant (Vinca rosea). Enthusiastically, they prepared and offered it to Guruji.
Guruji, recognized the dubious choice of ingredients and firmly declined, saying, “Nakko Khao tum log bhi.” The next morning, as Guruji returned, he spotted the duo lighting the chulha again, blissfully unaware of his watchful gaze. Observing them in their usual vigor, he muttered under his breath with a hint of relief, “Accha hai, chalo sahi salamat hai Buddha maru.” (alive and kicking.)
I took on a part-time role alongside him, staying overnight at the ashram. We would place our cots side by side, providing each other with companionship while Guruji and Amma returned back to the family. Tata, however, had his own unique rhythm. Sometimes, he’d wake up as early as 3 AM, settle comfortably on a kapde ki bori (a cloth sack), and start cutting wild grass in the faint moonlight. The ashram’s corners, known for their frequent reptilian visitors, didn’t seem to faze him at all.
The next morning, I dutifully reported this nocturnal adventure to Guruji, expecting concern or perhaps a reprimand. Instead, Guruji raised an eyebrow and muttered with his characteristic wit, “Arre Buddha maru -Ek toh dikhta nahin – phir ghans katna hai raat ko?” (The old man’s half-blind, and yet he insists on cutting grass in the dead of night?!).
Guruji frequently used Tata as a poignant example, contrasting his fortune with the misfortunes of others. “Observe Tata,” he would remark, “he possesses perhaps only two to four pairs of clothing, yet each day he dons a fresh, clean set. Meanwhile, you all are unfortunate enough to wear the same old clothes for weeks on end. In terms of hygiene, who do you think is more fortunate?” He would conclude with an ambiguous laugh, leaving the bench to introspect.
I vividly remember returning after my first month away for undergraduate studies. Tata welcomed me with a tight embrace and tears of joy as I stepped through the gate. He would meticulously set aside the finest fruits for me and Gudiya, ensuring we received the best. Amma often recalls how, when I was just three years old, she entrusted me to Tata’s care for a couple of weeks.
Guruji would often recount the character of the people living in this part of Telangana, emphasizing their remarkable capacity to forgive and forget quarrels, never holding on to feelings of revenge. He would remark that this quality exemplifies the deep-rooted spirituality present among the people of Telangana. The dynamic between Guruji and Tata, characterized by reprimands, reconciliations, and deep mutual respect, spun an unforgettable chapter in the existence of Kala Ashram.
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