Life Stories: A temple town affair

I recently visited a small town festooned with temples. Though I am not a religious person myself, I would have had to be daft to not be amazed at the relentless spirit of the town.

Life stories are always about real life experiences which are collected from real people. Sometimes I do it myself and at other times I get it second hand. Names/places are generally fictitious so that the subject’s identity is not compromised.

source: HoldayIQ

It is 2 am and the town is sleeping. Every day is fortuitous in this place and one is going to dawn pretty soon. The silence that we feel is not the chill of a mechanical machine that has been powered off. It is life itself that has gone to sleep, snoring in its hubris and twitching with tiny movements that will increase ever so gradually until a new beginning is made.

As the night wears down, the cleaners make a beeline for their temples. Their raucous voices disturb the peace as they shout to one other. A rare argument breaks out between a few of them but it is quickly doused. It is their job to make sure that the temples are cleared of garbage before the arrival of the priests. Mounds of garbage are cleared out and loaded on waiting trucks which are then dispatched to parts unknown. Hot coffee arrives in little paper cups which gives them the opportunity to take a break and indulge in ribaldry.

It is 4 am and the priests are setting their own houses in order first. The women ensure that the prayer rooms are spick and span. The priests wind a cotton dhoti around their waists leaving torsos bare. Vermillion and white ash mark their faith on their foreheads and the rest of their body as well. They chant a variety of hymns, offer fruits to their God, prostrate themselves and rush off to their temples.

The temples appear dark and empty from the outside while inside their labyrinthine depths gates are being opened, holy water is being readied and the inner sanctum is being cleaned. In one part of the temple compound, the cooks are mixing ingredients to prepare the morning Prasad (food of the Gods).

Paraphernalia shops are the first to open. They are just little tin shops with every inch of space being utilized to display their wares. Garlands ranging from vibrant rose to earthy jasmines hang invitingly. Bees buzz around the various offerings sampling the aromatic ones. Betel nut leave are stacked at one corner and coconuts make a small mountain behind them. One wall is stuck with glittering talismans made of gold, silver and every other metal in between.

Threads of different colors and of varying lengths sway with the early morning breeze. Women sit inside stringing more flowers together. Men are weaving small bamboo baskets. A young girl sprays water onto the flowers in her shop pumping the nozzle in short bursts.

Some of the more intrepid shopkeepers load their stuff onto push carts and start making their rounds puncturing the darkness with shouts of “Jaaaasmiiiineeee! Roooooooooooossees!” Their voices mingle together in sonorous bursts like a steamer making its way into the harbor. People who are still sleeping keep right on going without hesitation.

There is a steady of trickle of all kinds of vehicles crisscrossing the streets conveying people and merchandise to different corners of the town.

It is 5 am and many loudspeakers have come alive. Divine songs are belted out in competing medleys as they strive to outdo each other. Mellifluous voices from the old masters mix with newer forceful baritones and flow down the road waking up temple goers visiting the city. The hotels are now abuzz with staffs who know that most of their guests will depart in a sudden rush.

The music also has the effect of throwing open coffee shops which serve tea, coffee, milk and flavored milk. Stoves flare up and their heat wafts aromatic offerings enticing people a share of the early morning. Breakfast corners spring up instantly and the steam of many varieties of rice dishes rise up in a mouth watering fog. Each shop has a small audio system that helps its visitors digest their food by means of off-key musical scores.

A young couple and a baby are standing in a shop which is filled with wood smoke. The baby is wailing but its parents calmly perambulate themselves around the fire and bow low in supplication. The ritual seems to be administered by a priest-to-be as a precursor to their upcoming temple visit.

The grey light of dawn slowly coats the ramshackle buildings on the far side of the town. It continues from the east, creeping up through narrow twisted roads and continuing on to the center. A temple rises in all its splendor as the first light reveals its most intimate details. It is huge and has a perimeter that is more than 1 kilometer. Its boundary walls are adorned with alternating strips of pinkish red and startling white. Its courtyard has a vast expanse of stone slabs broken by a huge bathing pool. In the very middle, a pyramid like structure supported by black pillars dominates the entire space.

Clearly God awaits in residence.

The dome of the temple is a soft yellow color ready to break out into brilliant glittering awareness with the first rays of the golden sun. The massive burnished doors of the temple are partially open giving a first glimpse of its hallowed interiors.

Several temples rear their heads all around dotting the town blooming with spiritual welcome. People start congregating around them drawn like bees, biding their time until they are allowed inside. Some of them are the old faithful who live nearby while others have traveled from hundreds of miles away to be first in line.

The rhythm of the town has changed as she knows that it is time to wake up. She lumbers to her feet as devotees stream out from different corners of the city. Some of them are walking chanting mantras and others are buzzing about in cars, hand pulled carts, nondescript looking vehicles of indeterminate shape.

A little girl carries a garland trustingly in her grubby hands ready to offer it though she cannot help picking the sweet flower buds and rubbing it with her nose! The temple doors have been opened fully and the vendors have taken their favorite positions in front. They implore visitors to leave their footwear with them while they go on inside. Of course the price is a purchase of offerings to be used inside the temple.

A small but steady stream of devotees makes its way inside with childish exuberance. It is still cool in the morning and the sun has not dampened their enthusiasm. The priests are ready with their responsibilities. One accepts their offerings and conveys them to God in a language that only he can understand. Everyone cranes their neck to get a satisfying look at the proceedings inside the sanctum.

Various mantras are chanted until with a preordained finality until the sacred flame arrives and they hold out their hands to the flame and touch it to their eyes. The sight seems to content them and they accept small bunches of flowers as well as tulasi leaves as they troop back.

They are met by a priest sporting a rich white beard who offers them spoonfuls of the holy water. Yet another who is weighed down by his rotund belly offers them sweet and tasty prasad which they gratefully accept. A few regulars sit down for meditation while the others stomp away in search of more temples to conquer.

At one of the temples, a large black elephant lumbers its way into the corridor facing the sanctum. It looks at the few devotees who are gathered there with a benign eye. The people are terrified but the pachyderm keeps its cool and handles the narrow corridors with surprising ease eventually acquiescing in front of the sanctum with bowed head on its knees. Having finished its morning ablution, it turns around and walks out back to take up its appointed place near the main entrance to the template. It contemplates its position in the universe, twitching its tail and swaying from one foot to the other munching on greens conveniently provided by its keepers.

It is 8 am and the day is in full swing. Traffic police brace themselves for the coming storm at their assigned intersections.

Priests limber up knowing that soon a veritable mass of hope ridden humanity will be at their door step. The sun decides to make its presence known by heating up everything around by a still sane 10 degrees. Temple bells are tolling like a magnet to the senses. Drums add their bit creating a steady rhythm for the prayers. Cymbals clap themselves hoarse drowning their more illustrious cousins. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes carry their frenzied hordes to various parts of the town. The occasional traffic misstep has metamorphosed itself into a snarl with loud honking, screeching brakes and shouts of encouragement from various stakeholders.

The town patiently waits accepting the commencement of what seems like certifiable disaster with an aplomb that only comes with true enlightenment.

The clock on the grand square strikes 9 am and we are off to the races. The mayhem has been let loose and it consists of vast hordes of people going in all directions, cows serving as traffic islands, lawmen with harassed look on their faces, music blaring forth in all directions, buses bruising their way around and a general sense of helpless expectation. The result is chaos that cannot be described but must be felt for it is infectious. It motivates everyone to be part of this mad rush that is staged every day without fail.

The road leading to the temple now has traffic that seems to have turned into a fire breathing dragon. Narrow roads are made narrower by coconut vendors on bicycles, beggars pouncing on visitors, an eclectic mix of vehicles ranging from buses to bullock carts, a long queue of visitors standing on the road as they wait to enter and fueled by a desperate desire to get inside before the holy communion takes a lunch break.

Once inside, the heat takes a hold of you with the help of constant pushing and showing that inevitably happens when there is a huge crowd in such narrow spaces. Temper threatens to break free from its self imposed constraints. But the temple is an oasis of calm for it channels the energy from its visitors into a fervent hope that brings wisdom to their eyes. The line moves slowly inch by inch into the outer sanctum where they are met by the priests and urged to return back. Devotees accept everything offered to them with happiness and seemed to return back with renewed vigor in their step.

A palmist with his brows seamed pores over a young man’s hand. A couple arrives to be wedded and their families take over one corner. An astrologer is offering his services to an old woman and her son who presumably wants to understand his future. The elephant meanwhile is working overtime blessing people with his trunk. He also gleefully accepts fruits to eat and money to squirrel away. A bunch of kids are playing in the water by the bathing pool. A mother comforts her two year old whose head has been tonsured and covered with a mix of turmeric and sandal powder.

A family takes a dip in the pool with clothes on and then proceeds to perform prayers by rolling on the floor in a giant circle around the sanctum. A father sits with his small daughter who is ardently watching the elephant switch its tail. People are sitting down and eating prasad with obvious relish. Contentment makes its way through the assembly to young and old alike.

It is 12 pm and afternoon siesta applies to God as well. The priests get a respite from their normal duties and immediately set about dressing God for the evening’s festivities.

Souvenir shops make hay while the sun literally shines. Brass idols, carved trays, incense sticks, photographs of God, clothes, jewellery and so much more are to be had at every conceivable price range. The town frantically goes about its business offering something for every visitor irrespective of age, sex or religion.

Finally it is 5 pm and as evening settles in, the mad rush redoubles itself. Numerous smaller temples attract visitors as they are very specific about the avatar they house and the problems they can solve. The elephant however has long since left for his dwelling which is greatly disappointing. The priests are still actively serving the fevered throng.

At a small obscure entrance into the temple, powerfully muscled men with shining bodies are unloading sacks of provisions for next day’s prasad. A busy man wearing glasses is sitting in his office nearby tallying the day’s collections donated by well wishers. The courtyard is being swept clean and the cows are finally tethered. Many of God’s sanctums have already been closed up with heavy duty steel locks.

Visitors to the town go happily back to their hotels with their mission accomplished for the day. They may visit more temples tomorrow or may decide to go back home. Their visit has been an unqualified success. They came with hope and leave with optimism writ on their faces.

source: Wikepedia

It is 9 pm and the town settles in for the night. The traffic wardens are at home with their families enjoying dinner. Most shops are closed and all the loudspeakers are switched off. Traffic has slowly become diluted even at the central crossings. The priests have left the temple in the hands of the trustees to lock up. The sun bless its soul, has shut down its after burners. Smaller roads are desolate but without a hint of danger. The major roads seem to coast along expending less and less energy as time ticks on. There is a hush that covers even the most desolate soul with the promise of tomorrow. The town lets go of itself slumbers while today gradually slips into oblivion.

Kumbakonam has been doing this for 1000s of years. It is a temple town that has lived for more than a 1300 years. The town is a colossus who has seen many a golden sunrise as well as the grey twilights of retribution. A giantess who with her rich storied history has dedicated her life to the business of God, since the time she was born. She has churches and mosques as well but the temple spirit burns like a relentless flame within her.

A priest confided in me with “People share their light with God and it is reflected back into their hearts. People come to pray and leave emboldened. Kumbakonam is built on faith and hence answers every prayer however big or small. People ask impossible things but instead leave with a piece of the faith that pervades every nook and cranny of this town”

Maybe Kumbakonam is a mall for the soul?