Many years ago I read a book, by Harold Robbins I think. In which the hero who is Roman Catholic listens to the Kaddish (a Jewish Mourner’s recital) and breaks down. While I respect Robbins’ perception and mastery of the human emotion, this particular scene rankled. How could anyone who does not speak a language, break down into tears by listening to the Kaddish?

Yesterday, I think I got my answer.

Sridala’s dad who I had met on a few occasions, passed away a few days ago. And there was a Prayer Meeting held at their home. Having been unable to meet Sridala in the last couple of weeks due to a chaotic schedule, and wanting to pay my respects to the soul of the departed, I landed up there.

After some of the people there exchanged reminiscences about Sridala’s father, Sridala announced that the Vishnu Sahasranamam would be chanted. Those uninterested, were welcome to step outside for tea.

My body half turned towards the exit. But then suddenly the chanting began.

30. 40. I don’t know how many. Voices in harmony. The recital began. Some of the words I understood. Some I didn’t. Some words I remembered my mother chanting. Some were as alien as latin. But I couldn’t help but admire the way the paatis and the maamis recited from memory. Harmonised.

I turned back and let the aura of the moment envelop me. My feet felt rooted. There was a heart swell that caused a lump in my throat. The Vishnu Sahasranamam is not a mourning mantra. It is not an eulogy. At a simplistic plane it is but the chanting of the 1000 names of Vishnu. It is supposed to be the cure for all evils, balm for all sorrows and potion for all hope.

But yesterday the Sahasranamam was the sound of friends and relatives mourning the passing away of a good man. It was the sound of society reassuring Sridala’s mother, Sridala and her son that they should not think they were alone...that we were all there for them. It was the chant of mankind serving as background music to the journey of a soul from earth to the heavens.

And I cried.