TN Tour 9: Coasting to Chidambaram

We made an early start from Kanchipuram to head to Chidrambaram. We were making a small detour to stop at two places en route – Pondy (to commune with the sea and have a spot of breakfast) and Pichavaram (a wonderfully serene foray into one of the largest mangroves on our coastline).

We arrived in Chidambaram and were fortunate to find a hotel a mere kilometre from the temple. 

We had just one day in Chidambaram, and we wanted first to pay our respects to Thillai Kali Amman, on the outskirts. She is here in two aspects – as the fiery Kali and the more serene, four-headed Brahma Chamundeswari. 

It was a special experience. Kali is a fierce roopa of the Divine Feminine and we were particularly conscious of this as we approached her. She was in head-tossy mood. We tried to light a deepam for her and struggled repeatedly to get the wick lit. Trust me when I say there was no heavy breeze that day but for this one spot. Devi! the plea went up. Thankfully, she was not angry, only teasing; and we were able to get it done and proffer the lamps at the altar. The archaka took two lemons that had been impaled on her trishulam and, to our joy, gave them to us.

Next, we hastened off to Nataraja Koil only to stand stock-still at the entrance. I don’t know what I expected but it was a jaw dropping experience simply to take in this huge intricate complex, to walk through the prakarmas into the innermost shrine. I cannot do justice, so I will not try. Without stopping at any ancillary shrines or deities, we walked rapidly through and found, a bit to our surprise, that we had come to the very heart – the golden-domed Chit Sabha, the Chamber of Chitta, the innermost core of the mind.
 

 

Shiva stands here as Nataraja, and here also is consecrated the element of Akasha or ether – a veiled space that contains the Secret of Chidambaram, accessible only those with extraordinary perception.

We had only a few hours in Chidambaram but we spent them all here, wandering around, prostrating at the Govindaraja Perumal temple, sitting for shoonya meditation in the outer mandapas, and returning to stand indefinitely in front of Nataraja. We spent nearly six hours inside the temple, and so habituated, it seemed familiar. We went back to the hotel at midnight, and returned briefly in the morning for leave-taking.

Chidambaram is enshrined in so many songs, there is so much lore about it… consecrated by the great Patanjali himself, it is so subtle but it is addictive. You simply want more of the good stuff. 

Patanjali in Dhyanalinga parikrama, Isha Yoga Center (Credit: Isha Foundation)

 What a profound land this is that can put up miracles like this.

Dawn Chorus

I have not been able to figure out a more precise pattern. But it is always early morning, before dawn and always a Sunday. A group of people, often about 40 in number – or as it happened today, closer to 70 – proceed down the street in a moderate pace, singing bhajans accompanied by manjiras and chimes. Many of them wear white. The men walk to the front and the women bring up the rear.

I have not been able to arrive at what sect they might belong to, or even if the grouping is just a geographical one. They sing mainly of Vishnu, but as they passed slowly out of earshot today, I heard one bhajan to Mahadeva as well. The whole vibe is old fashioned. The melodies are from a former era, the style of sankirtan is gentle. The singers merely pass through, neither looking around nor performative in their attitudes. Simply chanting. One person leads, the others follow. Sweet, and very pleasing.

 

Who are these people? How are they organised? I have not been able to ask, because a) they are singing and it seems rude to snag a straggler and pose questions in moody, crepuscular light; b) I was still in my night things this morning and by the time I was dressed in a more seemly fashion, they were ambling along the next street.

***

It is true I have a nostalgic temperament. An old sepia photograph of Hyderabad from eight decades ago, with wide open spaces and bullock carts, is enough to cause a physical pang. Archival recordings of classical music leave me extraordinarily wistful. I am appreciative of the present moment, but what we have lost – architecturally, culturally, socially, structurally – pinches the heart.

(I remember some hand wringing in this old post.)

So a throwback like this one, a simple nagara sankirtana, is like finding a handful of seed of some precious, long-forgotten landrace, or a small colony of a species considered extinct. A specimen from which it is possible to learn, draw and replicate.

I wonder if they’ll let me join?