Amee Palshikar ahay! (We are Palshikar!)

It has been more than thirty years since I have visited our ancestral village of Palshi. I was young then, and did not understand what I was seeing, but remember the ancestral home built with sturdy teak timbers I remember the dirt streets and a deep well that my father and his siblings would dive into as children. Even though I was a child, I was struck with my longing to connect with the people, left with a determined feeling that I must return.

As years have passed, I have heard stories about returning to the ancestral village presented in different ways. It may have happened that our family was forced to sell the land and the villagers feel shame or even mild concern that we may desire to reclaim our ancestral land. My brother said he went back and got a polite reception, with locals understanding who he was. I am told the local Brahmin is friendly with my cousin and the family that live in the ancestral house are friendly as well. My cousin said there is even a contested hectre of land (about 2.5 acres) that we might claim a part of, if we wanted to join the legal fight.

I have admit that when my kids said the one thing they must do on our trip was to visit Palshi, my first response was "Why? There is nothing there!" The kids response has been categorically that this is where we are from, so we need to go. Still, on this trip I insisted that we visit the Taj Mahal and other cultural world heritage sites, but I was most unsure how the trip to Palshi would go. 

I went to the village of Palshi expecting nothing, only hoping to fulfill the childhood promise to myself that I would return. Instead my father, my children and I were brought into their homes, their temples and festival grounds. They remembered my father, the village boy who went to live in the city and moved to America, and they were so very excited that we still bear the name proudly, telling everyone we meet that "My hometown is the village of Palshi" because that is literally our last name. 

I don't know how it happened. My father took us to the temple, where we could pay our respects. When the patient came, my father introduced himself and us. Excitedly, the priest invited us to come inside, through the locked doors, through an antechamber to the holiest of rooms in the temple. After he dressed us in appropriately respectful garments, we followed. I have never been invited into the inner sanctum of a Hindu temple. The doorways become progressively smaller and lower, so I had to approach this holiest of rooms on hands and knees, which seems fitting. 

In the inner sanctum, we were anointed, and assisted with priestly duties of ceremonial washing and refreshing the flowers, assisting with a pooja. The priest excitedly got our camera for pictures, and then we emerged.

We assisted again with a ceremony, this time arthi, a worship with incense and fire. My father chanted along, and as a priest from Palshi it seemed so appropriate. I offered incense, and Josh provided I fire for the fire worship, offering the fire to all after the chanted prayer. Josh was then instructed to crack a coconut, sharing the water and meat with all who desired. The priest did think it was funny that as Americans, we had no experience in cracking coconuts! 

That was so much more than we had any right to ask for or expect. It was truly a divine mercy. 

To complete the pilgrimage, we needed to see the ancestral lands, step-well and house. My father said he knew the way, so we followed him. Coming to the ancestral house, the family who lives there now opened the door and welcomed us in. My father shared his childhood memories, of playing with his siblings there, and how one corner of the house was set aside for midwifery. 

I felt like such a an imposition! After quickly sweeping, our hosts invited us to sit and presented us with a sweetened lemon drink while we were able to talk. My kids quickly connected with the young woman who lives there, as if they were long lost friends. She, like most of the villagers, thought we were using the term 'Palshikar' as a descriptor, and was shocked and delighted when Volren produced an American passport that said "Palshikar"!

There is a ghost story that I grew up with, set in Palshi many decades ago, about a ghost offering a treasure in exchange for a human life. Apparently this story is no longer told in Palshi, but my father was willing to retell the tale to the delight of everyone in the Palshi house.

Reluctantly we continued on, to the smaller and older temple that our family had constructed. It sits next to a step well (peculiarly marked as a tourist attraction on Google Maps!) My father pointed out how there were channels around a quarter of the well symbolic of ancestral water rights that were presumably sold with the land. In older times, the well water would be drawn up and poured into the channels, which would in turn irrigate the family fields beyond. 

It is powerful see what was, as well as what has become of the village. My ancestors left because they needed to, and my family and I have had opportunities and become prosperous because of that difficult choice. While I feel no claim to land or property in Palshi, I do feel some responsibility to somehow share the blessings.