Once upon a time, in a humble abode nestled on a hillside, there lived a man named Pakkanar. Though he belonged to a marginalized caste, he possessed a remarkable gift; the ability to read and write. His simple dwelling overlooked the house of a Namboothiri, a high-caste Brahmin.
One day, as Pakkanar sat in front of his hut, two esteemed Brahmins passed by on their way to the sacred city of Kashi. Ever respectful of divine journeys, Pakkanar greeted them warmly and asked about their destination. The Brahmins, recognizing his sincerity, shared their intent to bathe in the holy waters of the Ganges. Aware that he might never embark on such a pilgrimage himself, Pakkanar made a heartfelt request:
“Kind sirs, would you dip my walking stick in the holy Ganges and return it to me?”
Moved by his words, the Brahmins agreed. Pakkanar quickly fetched his cherished stick and entrusted it to them. Upon reaching Kashi, they submerged it in the river. To their astonishment, the stick refused to surface, as if pulled down by an unseen force. Perplexed, they left it in the river and eventually returned to Kerala.
Back home, they recounted the strange incident to Pakkanar. His response was simple yet profound:
“It matters not, for my stick remains right here.”
The Brahmins were bewildered. Pakkanar smiled gently and explained:
“Water, dear sirs, is the same wherever you go. Devotion knows no boundaries. One need not traverse distant lands to find the Divine. A prayer offered with sincerity, even from one’s doorstep, reaches the heavens.”
The tale goes on to reveal Pakkanar’s unique way of giving. He sustained himself by cutting bamboo and making murams; winnowing baskets used in every household. But due to his caste, many refused to buy from him or accept gifts from his hands.