Beautiful Rangolis!

Purandaradasa walked into his little hut-like house near the banks of the river Tungabhadra in Vijayanagara (present Hampi in Bellary District of Karnataka) and called his wife.  Saraswati was busy doing something in the backyard.  She recognised something urgent in her husband's voice and came to him with hurried steps.

"Saraswati, today's rangoli is very beautiful.  I have not seen such beautiful Rangoli done by you before!"
"Ah, I am glad you noticed them at least today"
"Why, are you making such beautiful Rangolis everyday?"
"Where is the time for you to observe them?"
"Why do you say so? Don't I observe these things?"
"Half the time you are lost in the thought of Purandara Vittala. Other half is spent in Vyasaraja Guru's mutt"
"Do you mean to say that they are done this beautifully every day?"
"For the last two weeks or so"
"Where did you learn this? And from whom?"
"I wish I had done them.  But not me"
"Not you? How is it? Who else will do it in front of our house?"
"I wish I knew. But honestly I do not know!"
"This is indeed a strange act. Such a fine art"
"I have also been observing. Each day it is different.  Some days it is with powder. Some other days it is done with different coloured substances.  Some days it is with flowers.  And the type of flowers that are not be seen anywhere near Vijayanagara or nearby areas! I wonder who brings them and from where?"
"This is very intriguing. Come, let us take a look together"

 "This is just beautiful. Flower pots have been kept around it to prevent someone from inadvertently stepping on them"
"This has been the most colourful of them all.  No wonder you observed it today"
"Saraswati, but who is really doing this? It was not there when I went out very early today"
"When I came out with the broom and water pot to clean the yard in the morning before sunrise, it was already there"
"Somebody is doing a favour to us. We should thank them and find out the reason for such a favour"
"I agree. But how to do it?"  "Let me think and find a way"

Purandaradasa could not sleep that night.  He was wondering about the event that perplexed him and his wife.  Early in the morning he heard some noise and movement in the front yard.  He felt he heard some women talking in a low voice.  He got up and silently moved towards the window to have a better view of the goings on.  What he saw totally surprised him.  The seven women had already cleaned the front yard and were now engaged in making a new Rangoli, this time with flowers.  He waited till they finished their work and came out of the front door just as the group was moving away and spoke to them.

"Please let me thank you for your kind favours showered on us. You are not among the human women folk and all of you are radiating heavenly charm and divinity.  Please favour me with your real identity"

All of them turned towards the saint and faced him for the first time.  Purandaradasa was struck by the benign radiance of their presence.  Their leader spoke to him with all reverence.

"I am Ganga.  These are Yamuna, Godavari, Saraswati, Narmada, Sindhu and Kaveri.  We are the seven rivers that flow in this land.  We did not want to disturb you.  Though we are sorry we disturbed your rest, we are indeed lucky to see you and talk to you today"

"It is indeed my good fortune to see all of you together today.  It is difficult to have darshan of even one of you after a long meditation.  Please bless me by advising me the reason for decorating my hut with such beautiful Rangolis"

"People all over the country come and bathe in our waters and get rid of their sins.  We have no way to dispose off all those accumulated sins.  We come to the abode of pious people like you and do some little service.  The accumulated  sins left by all the people gets destroyed by serving someone like you who is always thinking of the Lord and singing in his praise.  Now please permit us to get back to our duties."

All of them bowed to him with respect and received his own salutations with due kindness.  Next moment they had all disappeared.  The beautiful flower Rangoli remained a witness to this strange spectacle.

This might well be an imaginary story.  But its beauty lies in its conception.  How many stories are actually true?