For actors accustomed to the limelight, recognition is second nature. Whether on a film set, at an airport, or in a temple, they expect a familiar smile, an eager handshake, or at the very least, an acknowledging nod.
So when Brahmanandam and Tanikella Bharani stepped into a small village temple during a film shoot, they assumed the priest would greet them with the warmth of a fan who had seen their countless performances.
He did not.
He remained lost in his worship, oblivious to the presence of two of Telugu cinema’s most beloved actors. They waited, expecting at least a glance of recognition after his prayers, but even then, he simply walked away. If they wished to speak with him, they would have to go to him, not the other way around.
Somewhat bemused, they approached him and requested an abhishekam. The priest replied, ‘The time is up now. Come tomorrow at seven in the morning,’ and left without another word.
The morning of revelation
The next day, the two actors arrived well before 7 am. The priest performed the Abhishekam and completed all the rituals. When it was time to offer Dakshina, they each took out a thousand rupees. The priest, instead of accepting it, gestured toward the temple hundi.
The film unit had brought breakfast, and as Bharani and Brahmanandam prepared to eat in the temple premises, they invited the priest to join them. He politely refused.
‘I have already eaten,’ he said.
‘Have some coffee at least,’ they insisted.
‘I do not drink coffee.’
‘Then have some water.’
‘I do not even drink that.’
A little taken aback, Bharani, with a touch of pride, finally asked, ‘Do you recognise us?’
The priest calmly replied, stating both their names – Brahmanandam and Tanikella Bharani.
Surprised, they asked, ‘Swami, you refused our Dakshina and told us to put it in the hundi. You would not accept our food, not even a cup of coffee. Why? May we know the reason?’
The priest’s answer was simple, yet profound. ‘Sir, I have an acre of land, a cow, and Lord Shiva. What more do I need in this life?’ And with that, he walked away.
The illusion of more
Bharani later described the moment as one in which their ego crumbled to dust. How wonderful life must be when one expects nothing from anyone, they thought. The priest, with his simple possessions and steadfast faith, appeared to them as the richest man in the world.
It was the very opposite of the Hedonic Treadmill – the relentless pursuit of more that never quite leads to happiness. In an earlier article, I wrote about how people chase new gadgets, luxury cars, beautiful houses, and exotic holidays, believing that the next acquisition will bring lasting joy, only to find themselves yearning for yet another new experience. The pleasure fades, and the cycle continues.
The priest, on the other hand, had stepped off that treadmill altogether. His life was free from the exhausting demands of ambition and the constant seeking of external validation. He did not crave attention, nor did he desire wealth beyond his modest needs. In his contentment, he had attained a peace that eluded even the most successful of men.
The real wealth
At that moment, Bharani and Brahmanandam saw the priest for what he truly was – a man richer than kings. He owned nothing by society’s standards, yet he lacked for nothing. Here ‘The Miller of the Dee’, a poem we read in our school, comes to mind.
The lesson was clear – happiness is not found in more; it is found in enough. Every person who lives with contentment is a true king a guru in his own right.
(This article is based on a report in the ‘Paathaa Paatala Premikulu’ FB group.)