Walk Slowly

A very long time since I wrote on this blog… I’ve outgrown it perhaps.
But the beautiful Mary Oliver resonated once again with me and where would I record this but here?
 

When I Am Among the Trees, she says…
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

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?

TN Tour 8: Kanchipuram Extra

Isn’t it so amazing that for a temple town with over a thousand temples, there is only one to a feminine deity? Just the one for the lady Kamakshi, who reigns over the kshetra.

On our ‘extra day’ at Kanchipuram, there was a long list of things to do. The Lord Varadaraja Perumal was first order of business. 

This is a stunning temple complex with some highly intricate sculpture. 

A busload of tourists had arrived and that lengthened the queue time, during which I was able to admire the peeling but still wonderful paintings that covered the walls. 

We went to see the gold and silver lizards, where there was quite a bit of silly shoving not to mention yelling by the guards. I admit I felt a pang of worry with COVID so recently past, to touch them but it didn’t feel right to not do the done thing, either. 

In the main sanctum, the Lord himself was utterly magnificent. The temple has a long history (apparently has around 350 inscriptions from various dynasties) and is one of the 108 divya desams of Vishnu.

Next we asked Raj, our driver, to find us a way to the river. He consulted a local or two, followed a track with some dust raised on it and delivered us, quite without volition, at the Shri Kanchi Kamakoti Peetam. Now this is hallowed ground – the Peetam or Seat was established by Adi Shankara and has an unbroken lineage of 70 acharyas. We must’ve heard that phrase any number of times in our lives. However, somehow, it was not on our ‘Plan A’ checklist. But here we were, and since we were there, we went in. Only to stumble upon grand jayanti celebrations marking the birthday of the Jagadguru Bala Periyava that were underway with all the luminaries of the Peetam on stage. A little abashed, we occupied seats and sat for a while before crouching out in what we hoped was an unobtrusive manner.

We visited the brown riverbed that passes for River Vegavati, once again dismayed at the state of southern rivers. 

+++

That evening we made our way to the Kailashanathar koil. Words fail me as I try to describe the beauty of this wonderful Pallava-era structure. Built with sandstone, this is a square layout of exceptional beauty and balance. 

The lingam is a large and faceted one; I think they said 16, but I cannot be sure. We met an irascible, venerable old man here, one of the priests of the shrine. We fell to talking and he shared a little of what it was like to continue in work that was under appreciated today, brought in far too little… but we could see that he could not imagine his life in any other way but in the service of Shiva.

Around the main shrine, built cunningly into the structure, is a narrow circumambulatory passage. You are required to crouch into the tunnel which encircles the linga, and emerge onto Shiva’s left, a pradakshina that is said to give moksha to those who complete it. A young man before us attempted to clamber up with his backpack still strapped on. “Idé eDu!” our elderly priest chided him. “Remove this! Put it down here! No one is interested in your bag.” It was symbolic. You must drop your baggage if you set off on the path to mukti. 

It reminds me of Kabir:

कबीर का घर सिखर पर जहाँ सिलहली गेल
पाऊँ का टिके पिपील का तहाँ खलकन लादे बैल

On the very peak is Kabir’s home, and every step is treacherous
Even the ant finds the path slippery, how then to take a bullock-cart up?

We sat a while in the dusk, looking at the lovely lines of the temple. It is maintained by the Archaeological Survey of India, with the typical landscaping they deem appropriate for every single site under their domain – lawns dotted with the occasional shrub. But they permit prayers in here, while preserving the structure, so I will not carp too much about that.

We then visited the dargah of Hazrat Syed Shah Hameed Auliya of the Qadri, Chishti order, where we sat awhile. 

Then wandered over to Vaikunda Perumal koil, an atmospheric and very charming temple.

Alas, although it was down the street from our hotel, we could not visit the Chitragupar koil. Said to be an assistant of Yama’s, this gent is responsible for the accounts of our destiny, entries of our good and bad deeds. It is a rare temple and I should have liked to have seen it: Chitragupta, by logic, is a good deity to have in your corner. It was not to be. In any case, it would have been academic. I have turned over all my accounts books to someone else. He will fudge them for me.