Part 13: Don’t Dare, My Dear Kids!

Warning: What I am about to narrate here is to warn everyone not to attempt such dangerous acts. Especially children must never do any risky adventure without informing elders or without proper training. I am only sharing these memories to show the dangers, not to inspire or encourage anyone. – Author

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Even now, when I see a temple Gopuram(entrance tower) anywhere, I instantly remember an adventure I did as a very small boy, To be frank, it was not an adventure—it was like shaking hands with death. It was such a thrilling yet terrifying moment that my breath almost stopped for seconds. Thinking of it makes me shiver even today. I am telling this with the hope that no child should ever repeat such foolish acts.

 

The Tall Gopuram of Mangalagiri:

Mangalagiri is famous for Panakala Swami temple on the hilltop, and Lakshmi Narasimha Swami temple at the base. The lower temple is very spacious, with four Gopurams. But the rear Gopuram was never completed—only traces of the early construction remain. People give different reasons for that, but the front Gopuram stands tall and majestic, almost competing with the hill beside it. It is eleven stories high!

 Since my father worked as an Executive Officer (E.O.) of temples, we lived in Mangalagiri for a few years. I was studying in an elementary school then. With my gang of friends, climbing the temple chariots parked near the temple, or jumping from their tops onto sand heaps was our daily fun. Fearless days they were!

One day, our gang decided to climb the Gopuram. Normally, the staircase to the top is locked. But sometimes, due to forgetfulness, the door would remain open. That day, it was open. And being the E.O.’s son, no one questioned me. That was our mistake. What happened next was a hair breadth escape… if my leg had slipped just a little more, I would not be alive today to write this story. Truly, God’s eyes are always upon us, saving us from dangers.

How the Gopuram was built:

The architecture of that Gopuram is simply amazing. Imagine, in those days, carrying huge stones and lime-jaggery mortar, without cranes or lifts, up to eleven floors! The builders used a clever method. In every floor, they left a square hole, about one and a half meters wide, in the centre of the ceiling. Through this hole, materials were lifted floor by floor till the top. Even after the construction, those holes were not closed.

So when we climbed, we could look up through the hole and see all the upper floors, and also look down and see all the way to the ground. I saw this myself in the 1960s. (I don’t know how it is now.)

A Dangerous Game:

That day, we rushed up the stairs like trekkers scaling Mt. Everest. While climbing, it was full of joy. But while coming down, joy disappeared and fear took over.

Inside, my friends noticed those square holes and treated them like play spots. One tall boy suddenly jumped across one hole from one side to the other, and proudly showed off. Another boy followed, and another too, though he slipped a little, he somehow managed to land.

Then came my turn. I was short, with shorter legs too. I hesitated, but my friends teased me—“Can’t you even jump this much?” Anger rose in me. I felt sad that my legs were not long like theirs. Still, I gathered courage. Looking down, it was a scary depth—maybe the fifth or sixth floor. If I slipped, it was straight death. But still, I jumped.

And what happened? My right foot crossed, but my left foot did not. I lost balance and was about to fall… luckily one friend caught my hand and pulled me back. I survived by a miracle. My left foot was badly bruised, but that pain was nothing compared to what could have happened.

We came down trembling with fear. Our gang leader made me promise not to tell anyone at home. I kept quiet then… but now I write it as a warning. Such reckless adventures in childhood can cost one’s life.

Sister’s Memory:

When we lived in Sambasiva Rao Pet, Guntur, I was a small child. Once, I lost my way and couldn’t find the house. While drinking water at a street tap, suddenly a little girl held my hand tightly and took me safely home. Later, my younger sister told me it was our elder sister Annapurna—whom we lovingly called Pedakka.

Sadly, Pedakka passed away due to white leprosy at a young age. Those days, our landlord was so heartless that when her body was brought from the hospital, he refused to allow it inside the house. The body had to be kept outside, leaning against the drain wall, till relatives came from Nandigama. Even recalling this brought tears to my younger sister’s eyes.

That day, I understood—people celebrate birth with joy but treat death with fear and avoidance. Birth is certain, death is certain—both are part of life’s music. Poet Atreya wrote beautifully:

 “When I cried, the world laughed. When I laughed, the world cried. Why should I bother about such a world?”

This chapter I dedicate to the memory of my elder sister Annapurna, who once held my hand and brought me home.

Jumping from a Train

This was not in childhood, but much later during my college days in Bombay (now Mumbai). Local trains are part of everyday life there. Once, a Telugu friend jumped out of a train before it fully stopped and asked me also to try. I blindly followed him—but instead of moving forward with the train, I moved backward while jumping. The result? I fell on the platform. Luckily the train had slowed, so I escaped with only bruises.

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That day I learnt—what may be easy for one person can be dangerous for another. Never attempt something just because someone provokes you. Many accidents happen this way, even while driving cars -  friends may force us to speed up or overtake rashly, but giving in means inviting danger.

 Driving, like life, needs balance. Just as in music we must know when to raise and when to lower the notes, in driving too we must know when to slow down and when to move ahead. Only then the journey will be smooth, like listening to a pleasant song.

Final Word

May be you too had such bitter experiences in your life. My friend Krishna Sharma (Retreat, Kokapet) once shared a story during our morning walks. In his village, there was a stepwell with spiral steps. Children used to jump into it for swimming. But a few, who were not skilled, drowned, pushed by peer pressure.

That is why I say again—

Children, never try adventures without the support and guidance of skilled persons.

 

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