When Perumal writes the script…

For the fourth time, I checked my phone to see if the driver’s details had arrived by SMS.

Nothing.

I hurried back to the kitchen to add the finishing touches to the saamai payasam I was preparing for my mother-in-law’s 20th death anniversary. The naivedyam had to be ready before we left for the temple. We also had a few errands to complete on the way, so I had booked a driver for 10.30 a.m.

Still, no driver.

The payasam was finally ready. After drawing a 5 dot kolam, I picked my phone and called the driver agency.

“Sorry, ma’am… Drivers are not available today. We’ll try and send one by 11.”

“Eleven is too late! Why accept bookings if you don’t have enough drivers?”

“We’ll definitely find someone by 11.30…”

“Even eleven is too late,” I replied, unable to hide my irritation. “Why run a company if you cannot honour confirmed bookings? Please connect me to your manager. I’ve been booking with you for years.”

The executive patiently repeated, “We’ll try our best, ma’am.”

Senthil, who had overheard the conversation, smiled.

“It’s alright. I’ll drive.”

“I know you can,” I replied, “but such poor customer service! And why is there a shortage when so many are seeking jobs….”

I reminded myself to calm down. I took a deep breath. After all, these things happen.

Just as we finished offering the naivedyam, my phone rang.

Truecaller named him, Balaji.

The agency had finally assigned a driver.

Balaji seemed to be in his late fifties. He walked with a noticeable limp, drove carefully, and spoke very little. He was very polite and thankfully knew his way around the city.

The drive to Adyar was long, with several stops along the way. As usual, I caught up on pending work from the back seat. A beautiful reel about Periyalwar appeared on my phone. It narrated how the great saint sang Pallaandu to Lord Vishnu Himself, fearing that even the Lord might attract the evil eye.

I smiled. These reel creators are amazing. Just the right amount of info, told creatively in a few minutes…That’s the secret sauce to attract the Alpha generation into our centuries old Paarambariyam.

I immediately shared the reel as an Instagram Story along with a few pages from my recently published book on the history of the Alwars.

Little did I know that the Lord had already planned the rest of my day.

After our temple visit, as Balaji was about to leave our apartment, he hesitated.

“Amma… I need to speak with you and Saar.”

Senthil stopped near the lift and joined us.

“I need some help,” Balaji began softly.

“My son is studying MBA at Loyola College. Recently I’ve developed an orthopaedic problem and cannot drive every day anymore. I manage only three days a week.”

He gently pulled up his trouser leg to show the bandaged calf. He didn’t need to. The sincerity in his eyes had already convinced us.

“My son is working part-time too… but we’re unable to pay this semester’s fees.”

“Please WhatsApp all the documents,” Senthil said. “We’ll see what can be done.”

Balaji handed over the car key and left.

Within minutes came the admission letter, fee structure, bonafide certificate and every supporting document into my whatsapp inbox.

“I’ll speak to my friend Govind,” Senthil said. “He often supports deserving students.”

Both of us silently agreed that if Govind was unable to help, we would somehow pay the fees ourselves. The quiet desperation in Balaji’s eyes and the thought of a young man’s future strengthened our resolve.

I compiled all the documents and forwarded them to Govind.

The blue ticks appeared almost immediately.

The next day, Govind’s office called asking for Balaji’s phone number.

Soon afterwards, Balaji visited the office and handed over all the documents.

He returned home holding a cheque for ₹16,250, covering the entire semester fees, paid directly to Loyola College.

A little later my phone rang.

Balaji’s voice trembled.

“Amma… I don’t know how to thank you and Sir.”

“You don’t have to thank us, Balaji,” I replied. “We merely made a few phone calls. Everything else was Perumal’s grace.”

There was silence at the other end.

Then I said something that had suddenly struck me.

“Yesterday morning there was no driver available.”

“Then, within minutes, you were assigned.”

“Your name is Balaji.”

“The donor’s name is Govind.”

“Don’t you see? I have absolutely nothing to do with this.”

He remained silent.

Finally he whispered,

“Yes, Amma…”

Before hanging up I conveyed Govind’s only message to him.

“Tell your son to take good care of his father.”

As I returned to my laptop to continue writing the article I was half way through, the doorbell rang.

A gentleman stood outside.

“Madam, Krishnakumar Sir asked me to deliver this.”

It was a beautifully bound coffee-table book on Srivilliputhur.

I sat down on the sofa, holding the book, my mind racing.

Periyalwar.

Balaji.

Govind.

Krishnakumar.

Srivilliputhur.

Could all these events unfolding within a span of twenty-four hours really be mere coincidence?

Or was Perumal gently reminding us that when He wishes to help someone, He simply chooses ordinary people as His instruments?

That day, Senthil and I realised once again that we had not performed an act of charity.

We had merely been given the privilege of participating in His leelai.

Govinda… Govinda…