Glutton Kiran to Sage Kedi
Author Kedi Ganapati
✦ Table of Contents ✦
- Family Child in Orphanage
- Warden Mangala's Nightmare
- The Bhakri in My Pocket
- Two Sips Milk and A Mother's Love
- The Day of Adoption, The Life of a Vow
- The Magic of Sabudana Khichdi
- Escape for Prasad, Not Parmeshwar!
- From Bhojan to Bhajan
- From Bhajan to Bhagwan
- The Mission: Find God, Gift It to the World
Family Child in Orphanage
My name was Kiran. For seven years, my younger brother and I lived in the orphanage of Sarvesham Seva Sangh in Wadgaon Budruk, Pune. When I was five, my mother, with the help of a women's NGO that covered half the fees, got me admitted there.
My father was a drunken goon. My mother, battered by domestic violence and gravely ill, could barely care for herself. That is why, despite having living parents, grandparents, uncles, and aunts, I was in an orphanage with no friends and a warden who wanted me gone.
I was greedy for food then—and still am. In the orphanage, I ate the most. While others ate neatly, I crushed bhakri into fine crumbs, mixed it with spicy aamti, and devoured it like a hungry animal. The rule was simple: the last child to finish washed everyone's plates. I was always last, so I washed them every day. One kind sister quietly helped me.
Warden Mangala's Nightmare
I had no real friends. I couldn't tolerate even a playful insult; I would fight instantly. My younger brother didn't mind teasing, so every child in the orphanage was his friend. I played only with the girls—they never abused, and they ate less, so I got their leftover share. Yet even they weren't friends; every evening they complained to the warden Mangala, and I got beaten.
Running away, roaming the village, diving into the canal, fighting boys, jumping walls, flirting with girls—my daily mischief exhausted the warden. She repeatedly begged the founder to throw me out.
The Bhakri in My Pocket
Sometimes Warden Mangala would get confused. The same girls who complained about me were the ones I continued to play with—even after being beaten because of them. I was the smartest child there, so she trusted me with managing the market accounts. But I was also the most mischievous, so I was always the first one to be punished.
I was beaten so often by Warden Mangala that I ran away from the orphanage twice. But within 5-10 km, I got hungry, I returned on my own. Once she discovered my weakness—hunger—she started giving me two options: beating or food. Then she would decide herself and deny me dinner.
After that, whenever I made a mistake (which was quite often), I would first sneak into the kitchen, steal a bhakri, and hide it in my pocket. Then I would go and surrender for my mistake. I wouldn't get any food, of course—but I already had my bhakri ready.
Two Sips Milk and A Mother's Love
Every two months, my mother would visit for ten days, showering me and the other children with love. Sometimes, when she gave more attention to the others, I would tug at her sari and say, "Mom, you are only my mother. You must love only me!"
The warden, Mangala, would send me every morning to bring milk in a large jar. On the way back, I used to secretly drink two sips from it. In fact, I would insist on going myself just so I could have those two sips every day.
When my mother found out that I was doing this just for a couple of sips of milk, she arranged something special. Every month, she paid a nearby general store for half a liter of milk. From that day on, my brother and I got to drink half a liter of milk daily. My younger brother never really drank his share. He would give it to his friends or even to stray dogs. But I was a complete foodie—I never shared my portion of milk with anyone.
The Day of Adoption, The Life of a Vow
My mother always said, "Your father knows this address. He can come any day." I had last seen him at five, in our village home. In seven years, he never came once.
I felt no one in the world truly belonged to me except my mother. One day she arrived, and as always, bliss flooded me. She took me to the founder's office and said, "A family wants to adopt you. Go live happily with them."
I was eleven. The words shattered me. I had always believed that if everyone else abandoned me, at least mom never would. When the founder described the family, it sounded as if they wanted a lifelong servant who would tend their garden and pretend to be a son.
I looked at my mother and said, "If they adopt me, they'll keep me as a servant-son forever. Whatever you decide, Mom, I will accept."
She changed her mind that very day. That night I cried until morning came, but the tears didn't stop. At dawn, I took a silent vow:
I didn't yet know what gift the world needed most.
The Magic of Sabudana Khichdi
A month later, I was in six grade at the government school. One day my classmate Mayur brought sabudana khichdi in his tiffin. I had only ever tasted the sweet version of the soup; the spicy one was a revelation—heat in the mouth, tears in the eyes, a running nose, a tingling scalp, jumping legs, and a fierce new craving in the heart.
I begged Mayur for more. He laughed and said, "You can eat all of it. Today was Kakad Aarti prasad at our house."
I asked what Kakad Aarti was. He explained: every morning at five, bhajan-kirtan in the village Ram temple, followed by prasad at a devotee's home. He said, "If you come daily, you can eat as much as you want every day."
Bliss and sadness hit me together—bliss at the promise of daily delicious food and sadness that after seven years in the village I had never known this existed.
Escape for Prasad, Not Parmeshwar!
I decided I would go the very next morning. But orphanage children were not allowed out without permission, and warden Mangala slept beside the locked gate. So, I planned to slip out through the toilet window at four.
When the temple bell rang, I woke up. My legs were stiff with cold; my oversized pants kept slipping. I tied a desperate knot, grabbed the drainpipe, and wriggled out. I hadn't washed my face; my hair was a tangled mess. Still, I ran to the temple. Outside the gate I suddenly felt ashamed of my dirty face and hands. I rubbed off the sleep from my eyes and stepped in. Only the priest was there. For a moment I thought I'd been tricked. Then the kirtan group arrived, and the singing began.
From Bhojan to Bhajan
It was my first bhajan-kirtan. I understood nothing of the words; they sounded like noise. My eyes kept drifting to the clock. Finally, at six, aarti ended. Everyone took tilak and walked to a house for prasad—steaming onion poha. I ate until my stomach was full, then slipped back to the orphanage just as breakfast (plain rava dalia) was served. I sat down innocently, as if I had been there all along.
For fifteen days I went alone. Then I thought, why enjoy this alone? I took my brother and his friends. They came once, ate little, and never returned. I went alone again. Slowly, something changed. I no longer went only for the food. I began listening to the words, trying to understand why people sang to God. A curiosity about God himself started burning inside me.
One day the warden found out. She beat me badly and warned, "Next time, you're out of the orphanage for good."
From Bhajan to Bhagwan
I stopped going, but the questions wouldn't stop: Who is God? Where is he? Does he know me?
I asked everyone. Most said, "Later." I would cry—I wanted answers now. One sister finally said, "Only sages know God, and sages tell only their chosen disciples."
The Mission: Find God, Gift It to the World
That settled it. When I grow up, I decided, I will become a sage. I will search until I find God and get every answer myself. And whether or not anyone becomes my disciple, I will tell the whole world about God.
Note: This content represents the first chapter of Kedi Purana, a 64-chapter work authored by Kedi Ganapati. Kedi Purana is a modern Purana of the present and final Kaliyuga.
