A Good Life: Dr. Chari’s Prescription for Joy, Healing & Harmony in the Village

🌿 A Good Life

Dr. Chari sat by the window of his study, a steaming cup of herbal tea forgotten beside a half-read journal on Quantum Biology and Cellular Resonance. Outside, the farm stretched in green splendor — birds dipped into the Krishi Honda pond, a breeze flirted with the areca leaves, and a distant cow mooed, mildly offended.

Yes, life was good.

This morning had followed a predictable pattern — his wife Radhamani in full operatic glory, reminding him (again) that he spent more time talking to cows than to her. "Even Mylo gives me more eye contact these days!" she had declared.

But an hour later, she had glided into the study with the elegance only Radhamani could manage after a monologue — placed a tall glass of warm ghasa ghase payasam on his table, winked conspiratorially, and retreated. Peace offerings in their marriage often came with jaggery and coconut milk.

He smiled.

His mind wandered, unbidden, to a memory from his boyhood. His father had once taken him — a shy, serious child — to meet a revered Periyar Swamigal.

"Tell me, boy... what brings you joy?"

Not “What will earn well?” or “Which college?” Just that — what brings joy.

Years later, Dr. Chari still considered that moment his true diagnosis. For he had always loved people, trees, dogs, books, sick bodies, and ancient verses. So, he became all of it: a physician, a farmer, a quiet student of Vedanta, and, on good days, a dog psychologist with no formal training.

His friends from the UK still messaged occasionally:

"Chari, what are you doing in that jungle?"

He would smile, reply with a mango emoji, and return to his compost pile.

He found more vitality in a farmer’s pulse than in corporate hospital rounds. Here, in this village that didn’t exist on maps, he healed not just people but their cows, goats, parrots, and occasionally their fears.

The villagers joked that Dr. Chari’s medicine worked

of-course on two legged humans but also best on beings with four legs and no opinions.

He didn’t mind.

In truth, he had found something rare: a life of harmony — between body, mind, spirit, and soil. Every creature, every herb in his garden gave him something modern medicine couldn’t: feedback in silence, healing in reciprocity.

He looked out at the trees once more and softly whispered,

"Thank you, Periyar. Your prescription worked."

SrirangaVN

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