माता भूमिः पुत्रो अहं पृथिव्याः

Idly, the other day, I asked Grok for a poem on nature. Whether dear Mary Oliver is the go-to on such subjects or if the omniscient Internet trackers know of my love for her, I don’t know. However, it offered to me this painfully beautiful poem:

Sleeping In The Forest

I thought the earth remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds. I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
of the perfect trees. All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

***

So vivid, I could feel around me also dark, rich soil. Slightly moist under my fingers and more than a little alive. My ear pressed against quiet rustles in the earth.

I asked Grok immediately to give me an image depicting this beautiful scene. The results were nice but a bit limited.
 

 

I hopped across to Dall-e, my old favourite, with the same request and the response was a bit more fantastical and pleasing to me. 

The first image had exquisite balance but issues with rendering the human face. 

A tweak of the prompt yielded this.

What do you think?

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?

Dhanya Ananda Dina

“There he is! Look! Oh my God, illé nintiddare! He’s standing right here!” Shweta and I nudged each other in quick whispers.

Our first ever in-person glimpse of our beloved Guru was of his back. We had entered the open grounds for the launch of five of Sadhguru’s books in Kannada, and he was standing at the back of the venue, facing away from us, speaking to a couple of people. I remembered his shawl, which had snakes going up. In my memory over the years, it had morphed into one large, highly striking snake but alas, the internet’s memory is as good as the elephants’. The video I found gives my remembered image the lie – they were a series of small snakes undulating upwards from the rich border.

Anyhow, there he was and there we were. The start of a love saga of unexpressable sweetness.

+++

In Isha, people are as fond of telling their own stories as they are anywhere else. But if there is one story that everyone will listen to with rapt attention (in fact will poke out of you, if you’re willing to share), it is of how you came to be with Sadhguru. Each story is unique: some are dramatic, some more matter-of-fact, but each is arrestingly interesting to us.

This is our story.

Our mother passed in 2009 and my sister and I dealt with it in different ways. Shweta took up a series of work assignments, I did nothing but stay home and stare at the walls. The sharp grief passed and at one point we looked at each other and wondered what the rest of this life was going to be like. Our spiritual bent was more keenly accented now, and I remember saying, “Rama-Krishna ankonDu iroNa.” Perhaps just turn consciously towards the divine. It would help find guidance in some next life, wouldn’t it?

We were not very learned but this message had rammed home – we needed a Guru. Not someone a little more accomplished, who knew a few more turns on the path, but a full Satguru, the Kaamil Murshid, the Ultimate Guide, the Perfect Master. We were particularly scared of half-baked guidance, having read horror stories of aspirants bogged down at some stage or led disastrously astray by their own accomplishments.  

In November 2010, still unsuspecting, I put up this blog post. 

Early 2011, we were tripping on the Cricket World Cup. And yet, we talked about how to go about this spirituality business. Having heard that world would have five Satgurus at any time, Shweta said somewhat wistfully, “Surely India would have at least one!”

“This person who writes in the Deccan Chronicle occasionally… he calls himself ‘Sadhguru’,” I said.

The problem with that however was that spirituality is no better than any other area when it comes to quacks and dilettantes. Anybody can stick a grand title to their name, and who can tell? Still… the word ‘Satguru’ is not a magniloquent word to be randomly affixed, it is a specific Office. This man didn’t seem dishonest or so stupid as to be unaware of the consequences of such a travesty. What if… he really was a True Master?

So with the excitement of the world cup playing alongside, we started to watch some videos on Youtube. In those days, Isha’s videos had a particular flute drift as their opening signature and that tune played out repeatedly in our home. By the 7^th or 8^th video, we knew we’d found him.

We must’ve watched 350-400 videos that month. One of the videos had an end slide announcing an Inner Engineering program with Sadhguru in Mysore in April. Our own people came from around Mysore, and it was Sadhguru’s hometown, moreover where he experienced his Liberation. We registered, booked our train tickets, bespoke a hotel room and landed there on 14^th April, a day before the program.

We saw him that very evening at the book launch, sat down and listened as he took questions, and as he left, we followed with folded hands as far as we were allowed. Our first acquaintance with a feeling that was to become very familiar over the years – the wrench that happens in the region of the heart when Sadhguru leaves a space.

15-17 April 2011 changed our lives. We were initiated on Chaitra Poornima. “We didn’t plan it,” Sadhguru chuckled. He never does, but auspiciousness always happens.

12 years (and some ¼-½) is one sun cycle. For sadhakas, this time frame is like a probationary period. Just do what you’re told and stay the course. What crossing it will mean, I have no idea. But it’s a milestone. 

 

TN Tour 7: Kamakshi and Ekambareshwara

Late afternoon turned to evening as we arrived at the temple of the Devi Kamakshi.

The story goes that Parvati heard from Shiva about the technical and ritualistic worship that forms the Agamic way. The Agama traditions include yoga, self-realisation, kundalini yoga and asceticism, and she wished to worship the lord in this way. At Kanchi, Shiva had taken abode at the root of a mango tree and that is where Parvati as Kamakshi made a linga from sand and began to woo him with tapas and yogic austerities. Playfully, and perhaps also as a test, Shiva took the form of the Kamba aka Vegavati river and the waters began to surge. Abandoning all her rituals, the Devi embraced the shivalingam to protect it from erosion, and unable to resist her Bhakti, he melted into her. 

Created by me with Dall-e 2

At Kanchi, the Goddess sits in padmasana. 

We snaked around the shrine in the darshan queue, made our offerings, took darshan. Because the queue wasn’t too bad, we managed to sneak in for another round, hehe. One of the guards was kind to us, and indicated a quiet place on a landing in front of the shrine, permitting us to sit for a while without either being in anyone’s way or our darshan being blocked. She is quite something, Kamakshi.

Adi Shankara is supposed to have installed the Sri Chakra mandala here, and there is a shrine to him to one side, with various sages and rishis depicted along the upper lintel of the structure. These were familiar names to us – the Guru Pooja we chant every day invokes a line of Gurus: Narayana, Padmabhava, Vasistha, Vyasa, Shuka, Goudapada… the Guru Pooja simply poured out of us as we stood there at the twilight hour, the sandhyakala.

We had made good time and bespoke an auto to take us to the Ekambareshwara Temple but what happened there, I wrote about in this earlier post.

***

We returned the next morning and this time, he was in residence. Hardly any people at all and we went right in. 

 

Now, Ekambareshwara is one of the Pancha Bhoota Stalas of southern India, and is the deity for the element of earth or Prithvi. With Save Soil, Sadhguru was specifically seeking the healing of the earth element. With the rampant use of chemicals, by stripping away verdure and leaving precious topsoil open to all manner of erosion, we have let soil health slide in every corner of the globe. A critical aspect of planetary health that has gone shockingly unnoticed and unaddressed – which is now slowly gaining world attention. Naturally, Ekambareshwara was a very important stop for us.

We went up to the sanctum, requesting an ‘archana’. 

"In whose name?" the priest asked us briskly. We looked at each other, a bit lost as to how to express ourselves. 

“For everyone… for the world…” we fumbled. 

“Ah, ok! Lokahitam?” he prompted. Beneficial to the whole world. 

We nodded rapidly, pleased with his quick grasp of what we needed. Barely pausing a beat, he launched into the most beautiful Sanskrit shloka I’ve heard… fresh air, he asked for, clean rivers that were neither too scarce nor too abundant, bounty for all creatures… prosperity and well-being for humans and mukti for each one at the appropriate time. We were close to tears by the end of it. It was most fitting. I have no idea which source that was from, I was too dazed to ask. We sat for a moment or two and were soon hustled out to make way for the next archana. “Go to the mango tree,” they told us kindly, “you can sit around there as long as you want.”

So we went to the ‘mango tree’ – a dignified arbour that marks the spot of Kamakshi’s penance. This is a beautiful enclosure and here also we prayed for the regeneration of the earth – its soil, its waters, a rise of empathy and consciousness, and for the safety of our Master who was risking life and limb in a brutal journey across continents.

This is a large temple, with long corridors, beautiful columns, high ceilings… we sat for a bit, pondering the massive effort and conviction that went into making these gems that are strewn in the Tamil land.