A wonderful place in Pudukkottai district of Tamilnadu, India.
“It's no trick loving somebody at their best. Love is, loving them at their worst.”
― Tom Stoppard
Sri Ganesh Ashtottara Shatanamavali (108 Names of Lord Ganesha)
Om Gajananaya namaha 1
Om Ganadhyakshaya namaha 2
Om Vignarajaya namaha 3
Om Vinayakaya namaha 4
Om Dwimaturaya namaha 5
Om Dwimukhaya namaha 6
Om Pramukhaya namaha 7
Om Sumukhaya namaha 8
Om Krutine namaha 9
Om Supradeepaya namaha 10
Om
Sukhanidhaye namaha 11
Om Suradhyakshaya namaha 12
Om Surarighnaya namaha 13
Om Mahaganapataye namaha 14
Om Manyaya namaha 15
Om Mahakalaya namaha 16
Om Mahabalaya namaha 17
Om Herambaya namaha 18
Om Lambajatharaya namaha 19
Om Haswagrivaya namaha 20
Om
Mahodaraya namaha 21
Om Madotkataya namaha 22
Om Mahaviraya namaha 23
Om Mantrine namaha 24
Om Mangalaswarupaya namaha 25
Om Pramodaya namaha 26
Om Pradhamaya namaha 27
Om Pragnaya namaha 28
Om Vignagatriye namaha 29
Om Vignahantre namaha 30
Om
Viswanetraya namaha 31
Om Viratpataye namaha 32
Om Sripataye namaha 33
Om Vakpataye namaha 34
Om Srungarine namaha 35
Om Ashritavatsalaya namaha 36
Om Shivapriyaya namaha 37
Om Sheeghrakarine namaha 38
Om Saswataya namaha 39
Om Balaya namaha 40
Om
Balodhitaya namaha 41
Om Bhavatmajaya namaha 42
Om Puranapurushaya namaha 43
Om Pushne namaha 44
Om Pushkarochita namahaya 45
Om Agraganyaya namaha 46
Om Agrapujyaya namaha 47
Om Agragamine namaha 48
Om Mantrakrutaye namaha 49
Om Chamikaraprabhaya namaha 50
Om
Sarvaya namaha 51
Om Sarvopasyaya namaha 52
Om Sarvakartre namaha 53
Om Sarvanetraya namaha 54
Om Sarvasiddhipradaya namaha 55
Om Sarvasiddaye namaha 56
Om Panchahastaya namaha 57
Om Parvatinadanaya namaha 58
Om Prabhave namaha 59
Om Kumaragurave namaha 60
Om
Akshobhyaya namaha 61
Om Kunjarasurabhanjanaya namaha 62
Om Pramodaptanayanaya namaha 63
Om Modakapriya namaha 64
Om Kantimate namaha 65
Om Dhrutimate namaha 66
Om Kamine namaha 67
Om Kavidhapriyaya namaha 68
Om Brahmacharine namaha 69
Om Brahmarupine namaha 70
Om
Brahmavidhyadhipaya namaha 71
Om Jishnave namaha 72
Om Vishnupriyaya namaha 73
Om Bhaktajivitaya namaha 74
Om Jitamanmadhaya namaha 75
Om Ishwaryakaranaya namaha 76
Om Jayase namaha 77
Om Yakshakinnerasevitaya namaha 78
Om Gangansutaya namaha 79
Om Ganadhisaya namaha 80
Om
Gambhiraninadaya namaha 81
Om Vatave namaha 82
Om Abhishtavaradaya namaha 83
Om Jyotishe namaha 84
Om Bhktanidhaye namaha 85
Om Bhavagamyaya namaha 86
Om Mangalapradaya namaha 87
Om Avyaktaya namaha 88
Om Aprakrutaparakramaya namaha 89
Om Satyadharmine namaha 90
Om
Sakhye namaha 91
Om Sarasambhunidhaye namaha 92
Om Mahesaya namaha 93
Om Divyangaya namaha 94
Om Manikinkinimekhalaya namaha 95
Om Samastadivataya namaha 96
Om Sahishnave namaha 97
Om Satatodditaya namaha 98
Om Vighatakarine namaha 99
Om Viswadrushe namaha 100
Om
Viswarakshakrute namaha 101
Om Kalyanagurave namaha 102
Om Unmattaveshaya namaha 103
Om Avarajajite namaha 104
Om Samstajagadhadharaya namaha 105
Om Sarwaishwaryaya namaha 106
Om Akrantachidakchutprabhave namaha 107
Om Sri Vigneswaraya namaha 108
Subramanya Ashtotram in the Raga
Shanmukhapriya 1. Om Skandaya namaha 2. Om Guhaya namaha 3. Om Shanmugaya namaha 4. Om Phalanetrasutaya namaha 5. Om Prabhave namaha 6. Om Pingalaya namaha 7. Om Kritikasunave namaha 8. Om Sikivahaya namaha 9. Om Dvisadbhujaya namaha 10. Om Dvisannetraya namaha 11. Om Saktidharaya namaha 12. Om Pisitasaprabhamjanaya namaha 13. Om Tarakasurasamharine namaha 14. Om Raksobalavimardhanaya namaha 15. Om Mattaya namaha 16. Om Pramattaya namaha 17. Om Unmattaya namaha 18. Om Surasainyasuraksakaya namaha 19. Om Devasenapataye namaha 20. Om Pragnaya namaha 21. Om Krpalave namaha 22. Om Bhaktavatsalaya namaha 23. Om Umasutaya namaha 24. Om Saktidharaya namaha 25. Om Kumaraya namaha 26. Om Kraunchadharanaya namaha 27. Om Senanyai namaha 28. Om Agnijanmane namaha 29. Om Visakhaya namaha 30. Om Sankaratmajaya namaha 31. Om Sivaswamine namaha 32. Om Ganaswamine namaha 33. Om Sarwasvamine namaha 34. Om Sanatanaya namaha 35. Om Anantasaktaye namaha 36. Om Aksobhyaya namaha 37. Om Parvatipriyanandanaya namaha 38. Om Gangasutaya namaha 39. Om Sarodbhutaya namaha 40.Om Ahootaya namaha 41. Om Pavakatmajaya namaha 42. Om Jrmbhaya namaha 43. Om Prajrmbhaya namaha 44. Om Ujjrmbhaya namaha 45. Om Kamalasanasamstutaya namaha 46. Om Ekavarnaya namaha 47. Om Dvivarnaya namaha 48. Om Trivarnaya namaha 49. Om Sumanoharaya namaha 50. Om Chaturvarnaya namaha 51. Om Panchavarnaya namaha 52. Om Prajapataye namaha 53. Om Ahaspataye namaha 54. Om Agnigarbhaya namaha 55. Om Samigarbhaya namaha 56. Om Visvaretase namaha 57. Om Surarighnaya namaha 58. Om Haridvarnaya namaha 59. Om Subhakaraya namah 60. Om Vasavaya namaha 61. Om Vutuvesabhrte namaha 62. Om Pusne namaha 63. Om Gabhastine namaha 64. Om Gahanaya namaha 65. Om Chandravarnaya namaha 66. Om Kaladharaya namaha 67. Om Mayadharaya namaha 68. Om Mahamayine namaha 69. Om Kaivalyaya namaha 70. Om Sangareesutaya namaha 71. Om Visvayonaye namaha 72. Om Ameyatmane namaha 73. Om Tejonidhaye namaha 74. Om Anamayaya namaha 75. Om Paramesthine namaha 76. Om Parabrahmane namaha 77. Om Vedagharbaya namah 78. Om Viradvapuse namah 79. Om Pulindakanyabharte namaha 80. Om Mahasarasvatavrtaya namaha 81. Om Asritakhiladatre namaha 82. Om Choraghnaya namaha 83. Om Roganasanaya namaha 84. Om Anantamurtaye namaha 85. Om Anandaya namaha 86. Om Sikhandikrtaketanaya namaha 87. Om Dhambhaya namaha 88. Om Paramadhambhaya namaha 89. Om Mahadhambaya namaha 90. Om Vrsakapaye namaha 91. Om Karanopattadehaya namaha 92. Om Karanatitavigrahaya namaha 93. Om Anisvaraya namaha 94. Om Amrtaya namaha 95. Om Pranaya namaha 96. Om Pranayamaparayanaya namaha 97. Om Viruddhahantre namaha 98. Om Viraghnaya namaha 99. Om Raktasyamagalaya namaha 100. Om Mahate namaha 101. Om Subrahmanyaya namaha 102. Om Guhapreetaya namaha 103. Om Brahmanyaya namaha 104. Om Brahmanapriyaya namaha 105. Om Vamsavrddhikaraya namaha 106. Om Vedavedhyaya namaha 107. Om Aksayaphalapradaya namaha 108 Om Mayuravahanaya Namaha
In
a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and
broken themselves into small strips called "places." These
"places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a
time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street.
Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in
traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having
been paid on account!
So,
to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for
north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents.
Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth
Avenue, and became a "colony."
At
the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio.
"Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from
California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street
"Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop
sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
That
was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called
Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy
fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims
by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and
moss-grown "places."
Mr.
Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a
little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for
the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay,
scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch
window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
One
morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray
eyebrow.
"She
has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the
mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want
to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes
the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that
she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
"She
- she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
"Paint?
- bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for
instance?"
"A
man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth
- but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Well,
it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that
science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But
whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I
subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her
to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise
you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."
After
the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a
pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling
ragtime.
Johnsy
lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the
window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She
arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine
story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for
magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As
Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of
the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times
repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's
eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting
backward.
"Twelve,"
she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and
"nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost
together.
Sue
look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a
bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet
away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way
up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the
vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
"What
is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six,"
said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days
ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now
it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five
what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves.
On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for
three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"Oh,
I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn.
"What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to
love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me
this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see
exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost
as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk
past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her
drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick
child, and pork chops for her greedy self."
"You
needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the
window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just
four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go,
too."
"Johnsy,
dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your
eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand
those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade
down."
"Couldn't
you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd
rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep
looking at those silly ivy leaves."
"Tell
me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying
white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one
fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold
on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired
leaves."
"Try
to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the
old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come
back."
Old
Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past
sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a
satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years
he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his
Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never
yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a
daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a
model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a
professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming
masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly
at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting
to protect the two young artists in the studio above.
Sue
found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den
below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there
for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told
him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile
as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
Old
Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision
for such idiotic imaginings.
"Vass!"
he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because
leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No,
I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot
silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss
Yohnsy."
"She
is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind
morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care
to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old
flibbertigibbet."
"You
are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go
on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to
bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie
sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott!
yes."
Johnsy
was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill,
and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window
fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without
speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in
his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for
a rock.
When
Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull,
wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
"Pull
it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily
Sue obeyed.
But,
lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through
the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It
was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated
edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the
branch some twenty feet above the ground.
"It
is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during
the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same
time."
"Dear,
dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of
me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"
But
Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it
is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to
possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship
and to earth were loosed.
The
day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf
clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night
the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows
and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
When
it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
The
ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy
lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring
her chicken broth over the gas stove.
"I've
been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last
leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You
may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and
- no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I
will sit up and watch you cook."
And
hour later she said:
"Sudie,
some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
The
doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as
he left.
"Even
chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his.
"With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I
have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe.
Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope
for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."
The
next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition
and care now - that's all."
And
that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a
very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her,
pillows and all.
"I
have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died
of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found
him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His
shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where
he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still
lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered
brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and - look out
the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it
never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's
masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
