Feeding the Past, Planting the Future

• Ravi Ila Bhatt

Twelve-year-old Ravindra scowled at the plate of warm kheer, sliced bananas, and pooris sitting on the balcony railing. Below, a crow hopped along the parapet, eyeing the feast before swooping in to peck at the rice.
"Dadu, honestly, why do we let birds eat the best breakfast of the week?" Ravindra asked, crossing his arms. "And why do you wear that kusha grass ring while pouring water through your hands? Mom says it’s Pitru Paksha, but it just looks like feeding neighborhood crows."
His grandfather, wiping his palms with a cotton towel, chuckled warmly. "Come sit, Ravindra. Let’s talk about your great-grandfather, Bishan."
Dadu settled into the wicker armchair, motioning Ravindra to sit beside him. "Traditionally, Pitru Paksha is a fortnight of remembrance. Ancient scriptures call it repaying Pitru Rin—the debt to those who came before us. We perform Tarpan, offering water with black sesame seeds, and Pinda Daan, offering food cooked with pure devotion. The belief is that our departed elders enter Pitru Loka, a realm between earth and heaven, and during this dark fortnight of the moon, they draw close to receive our prayers."
"And the crow?" Ravindra asked, still skeptical.
"In folklore, crows are messengers between realms, carriers of unseen memories," Dadu explained. "Traditionally, offering food to crows, cows, and stray dogs ensures that the blessings of nature carry our prayers upward. It is ritual, symbolism, and reverence woven together."
Ravindra looked out the balcony. The crow had fluttered off, replaced by two hungry sparrows darting around the grain. "It sounds like a nice myth, Dadu, but does pouring water on the floor really reach Great-Grandfather?"
Dadu smiled, tapping Ravindra’s chest right above his heart. "Think about it like a scientist instead. What do you actually inherit from your ancestors?"
"DNA," Ravindra replied instantly. "Genes. Like how I have your stubborn chin and Great-Grandfather Bishan’s curly hair."
"Exactly," Dadu nodded. "Modern insight tells us that you are literally the walking continuation of thousands of people who survived wars, droughts, hardships, and illness. Their grit, resilience, and biology live right inside your cells. Pitru Paksha is an annual lesson in gratitude and lineage. In our busy modern lives, we get so obsessed with ourselves—our school ranks, our social media, our gadgets—that we forget we didn't build our lives from zero. Great-Grandpa Bishan walked eight miles to school barefoot so my father could attend college, and so I could build an engineering firm, and so you can sit here dreaming of coding video games."
Ravindra grew quiet, picturing the sepia-toned photograph of a stern-looking man on their hallway wall.
"The ritual of Tarpan simply forces us to stop, breathe, and acknowledge that chain," Dadu continued softly. "Modern observance isn't just about old mantras. Today, when we finish our prayers, you and I are heading to the animal shelter to drop off fifty kilos of feed, and then we’re planting three neem saplings in the community park in Bishan’s name. Nourishing the living, preserving the earth, and keeping their moral values alive—that is the real offering."
Ravindra watched another sparrow peck at a stray grain of rice. The ritual no longer seemed like an outdated chore. It felt like passing a baton in an endless relay race.
"Can we name one of the neem trees after him?" Ravindra asked.
"We certainly can," Dadu said, handing Ravindra a bowl of warm kheer. "Now eat up. We’ve got a legacy to water."
Moral:
Pitru Paksha teaches that the deepest way to show gratitude to the past is by serving the living—nurturing nature, practicing compassion, and carrying forward the resilience and values handed down to us.