In darshan today, my Guru said that all we ever have is time. And that, we are losing, all of us. Can't be transferred, can't be shortened or lengthened, twisted or turned. Use it or not, savour it or not, trickling away at a constant steady rate for all of us. The only thing we have, we are losing.
Good to remember on this day, this ritual we use to mark time.
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| Created by me with Dall-E |
A hope and a plea for the new year.
forest path
with each step
a little less of me
—Victor Ortiz
It has been a month since I updated last - the gaps between posts that are supposed to be part of a travel series is much too wide. I had really hoped to write up the Tamil Nadu travelogue at a fast clip.
Work intervened, however, and I went on assignment to Bodoland, the beautiful Autonomous Territorial Region within Assam.
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| The Wild Side of Bodoland (Created by me with Dall-E) |
After we attended that, I seized the chance to spend a fortnight at the ashram in Coimbatore.
Long story short, we had left the story at Kanchipuram and will pick it up there again. If nothing, it gives me an excuse to pore over pictures and dwell on the trip.
It took us a while to get settled in at Kanchipuaram till we got allotted a room that suited us. A late lunch and coffee at the Saravana Bhavan down the street meant that it was only after 5pm that we set out.
The Kamakshi temple was within walking distance. We were asking for directions and negotiating the lanes that would take us to her, when we came upon another temple. We entered, not knowing where we were. However, Kanchi has such a wealth of shrines, I doubt you could throw a peanut and not hit hoary legend. We had somehow chanced upon the fabled Ulagalanda Perumal Temple.
There are 108 ‘divya desams’ in the Indian subcontinent dedicated to the Lord Vishnu – these are spots that have been extolled in song and verse (mangalasasanam) by the 12 alwars, Tamil Nadu’s most revered poet-saints. This temple – the Ulagalanda Perumal complex, where Vishnu is worshipped as Vamana, the dwarf avatar who vanquished King Bali – houses not one but in fact four divya desams.
My father tells me that ‘ulagam’ is Tamil for the world, ‘alandha’ is ‘the one who measured’ – therefore Ulagalanda Perumal. You know the story of the asura king Mahabali, of course, in which the Lord, in his vamana or dwarf avatar, asked the king for three paces of land. When Mahabali had acquiesced, Vishnu assumed gigantic proportions. One step he took from heaven to earth, the second from earth to the netherworld and asked Mahabali where he should place his next step. The King, bound by his promise, offered his head. He was pushed into the netherworld and the Lord gave him sovereignty over Patalaloka.
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| Vamana by Keshav @Krishnafortoday |
My breath hitched with some resonance in the temple. The worship was ardent but apart from the central shrine, the rest of the temple, the outer mantapam etc is rudely maintained, unkempt and messy. A temple of this antiquity, this stature not getting its due attention is simply saddening. It is, of course, under the grip of the notorious Tamil Nadu Hindu Religious and Charitable Endowments Department (HR&CE) – an authority reported to have been so corrupt and inept over the decades, it is in the process of destroying all remnants of this valuable civilization.
This was another strain that threaded our whole journey. On the one hand, we were blown away by the sheer force that the deities still wield, by the throbbing bhakti that has been kept up, in the face of monumental odds. On the other, we were frequently moved to grief at the dilapidation, the criminal neglect, the apathy… In some cases, it was callous disregard, in some others, the utter lack of understanding of what the whole temple complex represents, how it works not as ornamental levels or grandiose architecture but as a subtle energetic mandala.
Before the pandemic hit, our last outing was to Tiruvannamalai early 2020. Arunachala Shiva had struck us like lightning. It had been a short trip, deeply moving but we’d not had time to collect all the ticks on the list of things to do there. There was no doubt in our minds that we would first make our way to Arunachala on this trip of ours.
The journey was a long one. With stops at Karur and Salem, it took us 14 hours to traverse 425km; we pulled in at Tiruvannamalai at around 7.30 in the evening. An unwise choice of a robust thali for lunch left us a bit nauseous and we could do nothing that day but tend to our stomachs and sleep. We knocked at the doors of Ramana Ashram the next morning. A beautiful place, where we bowed to Matrubhuteshwara, sat in the benevolent quietude, grateful for this space that Ramana has left for us to soak in.
We had plans for that day: Virupaksha caves, a visit to Seshadri ashram, a spot of lunch… but instead we sat in the hotel room, requesting to be sent several bottles of water as we puked our guts out. Around 4pm, the worst was over and we felt that we could perhaps salvage the day after all. We went first to Arunachaleshwara and straight into the inner-most shrine. Gracious, He accepted our homage and gave us leave to circumambulate the hill.
Out on to the main road, and a turn right to make our way around this sacred hill that draws devotees in thousands. Eight important lingams dot the 14km route and it is customary to visit them all as you walk the path.
Soon we left the traffic behind and climbed the hill road. The road is home to hundreds of sadhus who have gravitated towards Tiruvannamalai. Some are attached to the numerous temples and ashrams that dot this entire path, some make do with rudimentary shacks of their own making. We saw food trucks from one of the ashrams make a slow trawl, offering annadanam to the holy men. We walked on, somewhat troubled by the fine gravel on the path. 14km would not have been challenging normally, but being barefoot, we discovered, added at least 2 hours to our time. It was night when we finished the circuit once again at the temple, which was closed by this time. We saluted the Lord from outside his gates, and celebrated with a light dinner comprising plain dosa and nimbu soda.
Our hotel, presumably used to folks limping in after their girivalam pradakshina, had a massage chair on offer. After a bracing bath, I went off to indulge myself and was taken by this marvelous machine that knows precisely how to treat sore calf muscles. I yielded the chair to Shweta and she nearly woke up the nearby guests by squealing in ticklish joy. She hadn’t anticipated that the chair would twist her ankles quite so well.
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The first thing we did the next morning was head to Arunchaleshwara again.
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| Approaching from the Raja Gopuram or the East Gate. |
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| The temple complex is dazzling in its scale and beauty |
Morning darshan was quick and sweet. We reached the Devi Unnamalai Amman just as the abhishekam started; happily, the priest let us linger a little longer than usual in front of the shrine. We spent some time at the patala lingam, the cave temple where Ramana spent much time. Once decrepit, now restored, it is a place to linger and try to comprehend the resolution it takes to approach the Truth.
This was a pattern we followed for the most part through our journey. Arrive in the afternoon, make one visit to the main temple in the evening and yet another the following morning. We spent the hot, afternoon hours on the road getting from place to place.
The prasadam stall at Arunchaleshwara temple is a good one, and we asked for puli sadam, sweet pongal and vadai. We ate it right there in the mandapam, and in a while, washed that down with fruit juice near Seshadri ashram.
We walked over to the ashram of Yogi Ramsuratkumar, who is affectionately referred to as Visri Sami. A mystic who came from Uttar Pradesh and settled here within view of Arunachala. This is a place of serene beauty. We had prasadam here, wandered across the hall reading the wonderful life events and teachings of the master.
Thanks to our lost day, we did not have time for Virupaksha cave once more. Next time for sure. We left Tiruvannamalai, craning our necks to catch final glimpses of the sacred hill. To be summoned again in a span of two years… lucky indeed.
Our route to Tiruvannamalai, the first night-halt, was punctuated by stops: Nerur, the samadhi sthala of the great saint Sadasiva Brahmendra; and Salem, where lies the jeeva samadhi of Mayamma, the wonderful avadhuta of Kanyakumari. Both places were magnificent.
Sadasiva Brahmendra finds a place among the six panels leading up to the Dhyanalinga at Isha. We have often heard and read stories of his life, his complete dis-identification with his body, we have heard his songs, typical in their laconic phrasing. His resting place I found restful, more silent than energetic.
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One motif running through the entire trip was the rivers, in particular Cauvery whom we encountered time and again, crossing her course several times. Again, a special interest for us. Cauvery Calling, the massive on-ground movement to revive the river is supporting farmers to make a partial shift to agro-forestry. The mission is to plant 242 crore trees in the river basin, revitalizing the soil, and in turn, the river, which has been seeing dangerously depleted levels. We saw first-hand the truly heartbreaking state of the river and the smaller rivers that drain into it.
Near Karur, we went to the fascinating Agatheeswarar Temple on the banks of River Amaravathi, near the confluence of the rivers Kaveri, Amaravathi and the now-dead Thirumanimuthaar. The location was magnificent, the sunlight was brassy gold, birds chirped and flitted, not with the frenzy of dawn but with all the languor of the midday warmth. We’d gone prepared to take a dip in the water but the riverbed was dry, the water just a silvery trickle in the distance. It wasn’t even summer yet. We could see for ourselves what Sadhguru means when he says our rivers are dying. This is not how it’s supposed to be. A river is a huge presence, a life of its own… we have let things go too far.
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The temple – built by Rajendra Chola I – is in a state of disrepair. The inner shrine (the linga is said to have consecrated by Agastya himself) was barred. We couldn’t go in but we met some officials there, I think they were from the Department of Archeology; restoration, I learned, is on the cards. In the yard, we found a Shivalinga, a samadhi and a pair of hobnailed padukas*, belonging to a yogi who had lived here, and also left at this spot. How wonderful if the temple and the river are restored together! Can you imagine the powerful serenity that could once again emanate from such a combination?
Sitting in a house that has been wisely built on a high foundation, on a part of the street where the ground swells rather than troughs, I say it’s been a wonderful monsoon in Telangana. The people down our street would come after me with their hawaii chappals, because they’ve been inundated once too many, but there it is.
(One wall is leaking with the incessant dampness and the newly laid paint is bulging along a crack. I’m suffering too, just saying.)
But *backs away cautiously* yeah, sorry, your troubles are bigger.
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One week we didn’t see the sun at all. But at least there was the reliability factor. It was raining, that was it and we wrung everything out to the max, hung clothes on the indoor clothes-rod and pressed the fans into service.
This week, it’s been hide and seek. A drizzle will come, everyone shouts and warns the neighbours, the whole family rushes out to pull the clothes off the wires (added to which is the complication of clothes pegs). I go for the drier things first, my father aims for the nearest garments. We get in each other’s way, some more shouting ensues. A rueful word and shake of the head to the neighbours who are in a similar flurry. Then soon after we’ve managed to get the hangers and hoist everything up on the perch inside, the sun comes out. C’est la vie.
To honour those grey skies, these benevolent, fierce and moody rain gods, the sudden downpours, the raging gutters, this gorgeous haiku by Susan Constable:
cloudburst
the sound of raindrops
changing size
