| Post by Shri Gopal R. Krishna in Yahoo groups Dear All, Hindu symbols, practices and terminology is being stolen and used by christians as part of their evangelical work. Most of you may be aware of it and some of you must be witness to it. Should that theft contiue? How is safeguarding our personal property different from safeguarding our cultural identity? What should be done? Should any thing be done at all? Is this a fight against the church? Or is it a dialouge to prevent theft? How would you all respond to this theft? Traditionally it is said that brahmins shy away from confrontation.
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Hindu temple in Minneapolis
As posted by Shri S Narayanaswamy Iyer in Yahoo groups
Dear fellow-Brahmins
May I respectfully enquire what is the main “deity” worshipped in this Minneapolis temple? According to which agama are rituals there performed? What are the qualifications for priests there?
I have been to several so-called “Hindu” temples during my peripatetic sojourns in the US, UK and Europe. Quite a lot are not to dedicated to any recognized deity found in our scriptures, whether Vedas, Puranas, or songs. They are dedicated instead to some deified humans, often deviationists whose highly emotional followers encourage adoring these “manufactured deities” rather than divinities we are familiar with. The ornate, conscipuous and mushrooming “Swaminarayan” temples are examples. Others are to various “sadhus” or “gurus” or meat-eating, drug-taking, alcohol-consuming, tobacco-smoking “village-guardian” dark spirits that inspire terror rather than piety.
Some of these temples encourage “going into trances” when the mediums (both men and women) move about erratically and screech or scream and utter gibberish, till quietened down, for example by whip-lashing or by having lumps of camphor lit on their tongues or other tender parts of the body. A few hack themselves with knives, or pierce themselves with skewers, while shaking and shivering uncontrollably.
S Narayanaswamy Iyer
Ma nishada
” Ma nishadaprathishtam thwamagassasswathee sama
Yad krownchamidunadekam avadee kamamohitham”
The screaming in unbearable anguish, by one of the krowncha birds left alive and alone, after her male partner was shot down by a hunter while indulging in innocent love-making, on the banks of the Thamasa stream, inundated the sage Valmiki with immeasurable pain and along with the pearls of tears that flew from his eyes, emanated from the cavern of his compassionate heart an effluence of poetic extravaganza which turned into the second Ganges to give solace and salvation to several souls.
Killing a bird or an animal is matter of routine in the forest and in his previous avatar, Valmiki himself would have decimated ruthlessly hundreds of lives and looted belongings of unexpected hapless victims. For a person for whom tormenting others was a habit and profession, another hunter’s act should not have created even a ripple in his heart. But, he is now, no more Ratnakara, the dreaded hunter and highway robber that he was, once. He is now Maharishi Valmiki, who has come out of the ant-hill, his soul purified by constant chanting of the name of the ocean of compassion and his every tiny cell in his blood, bones and skin regenerated and refined by the slashing rains, slaughtering heat and savage cold. .
That is the reward of ‘THAPASYA’, dedicating one’s body and soul to a great cause, with unwavering mind and unpolluted sincerity.
Sir. C.V.Raman, was one of the chief guests in the golden jubilee celebration of the Osmania University, Hyderabad in June 1967 and as a P.G. Diploma student in French and German, I had the fortune of meeting and hearing him. He gave a guest lecture on diamonds. At the end of the lecture, a science graduate stood up and asked, “Sir, you have discussed the different aspects of the nature of diamonds but you have not shown us how to make the diamonds?”
Sir Raman retorted immediately, “It is quite easy. Take a piece of charcoal, bury it one thousand feet deep in the bowls of earth and wait for one thousand years”
There was gleeful clapping in the hall. His message was loud and clear.
When the virus of Vulgar thoughts and vultures of vices slaughter one’s mind and body and his soul gets encapsulated in an ant-hill of ego and ignorance, the celestial melody awakens it, if there is a sincere prayer for liberation. Liberation is not flying into the land of angels, beyond the clouds. It is here, in this soil, where you live and grow. And every one of us turns into a piece of charcoal at one stage or other and get buried deep and deep into difficulties and distress, defamation and mental stress and it takes long, long time for our conversion into diamond.
Osho offers a helping hand :
“It is such a tremendous phenomenon to face oneself. You will need all your energies. .It is such an absorbing job; it cannot be done half-heartedly—And the God is available only when you are unburdened”
Unburdened? How?
Osho also suggests a way:
“”Life is like a play-don’t make it a business; otherwise you will miss it. Play well, but don’t think in terms of achieving something out of it. Just be like a child. He plays, he is not worried what he achieves out of it. Small children, even if they are defeated in a game, jump and play very well, feel happy. Failure is not a failure even if it is only a play. Otherwise, if it is business, even victory is a defeat. You are victorious but nothing has been achieved. You longed for this goal so much and now you have reached it, but you simply feel frustrated and your whole life is lost. Remember, your life will be lost if you are after some goals, because life has no goals. It is a purposeless play. It is not going anywhere, it is simply enjoying itself.
If there is purpose, all life will lose its poetry”
This man is talking nonsense, you may say.
Melpathur Mahakavi sings about such a life full of poetry.
“Venunadakritha thanadana kala ganaraga gathi yogana-
Alopaneeya mridhu pada patha kritha thala melana manoharam
Panisamkwanitha kankanancha muhurasalambhitha karambujam,
Sronibimba chaladambharam bhajatha rasakeli rasa dambharam”
“For Lord Krishana, it is OK” I hear Ammalu murmuring from the kitchen, “but if you enter the dance club, the doors of this house will be ever shut for you”
I am not unaware that symphony in our life is more a dream than a reality but there are ways to lessen the sharpness of the thorns though we may not succeed in converting them into roses.
Is there any other person who lived a more purposeful life than Lord Krishna, all the way smiling, singing and dancing though right from his birth in captivity he was hunted by foes and and haunted by problems, both of not his making. He never treated his life as serious but acted always seriously, with a smile on his face . We enjoy that ‘Krishna Leela’ but when our three year old kid plays for more than a couple of hours, we thrust a paper and pencil into his hand ask him to write ABCD! We recite day and night Krishana’s dictum that we should work without worrying what we achieve out of it, but we are shattered the moment our child misses an entrance test.
Not that type, I am. I go cranky only when dosa refuses to get up from the iron tawa in one piece or my arthritic knees refuse to get straightened before the pressure cooker go to the alert mode for giving out the forth whistle.
Now you are getting impatient. ” Damn with your kitchen experience” you scream.”There is ocean of difference between Osho and Valmiki. Why bring them together?”
While inhabited in the intensely inimical ambiance and despite the damages delivered on his body by the devilish insects and devouring natural elements, Ratnakara was floating in the bliss of the Lord. The celestial saint Narada, while inducting him into the path of devotion also passed on the melody of his Veena with the result that Ratnakara’s life was just a play, as Osho says. Thereafter, when he came out of the ant hill, he did not become rigid, as would have happened in the normal course under the adverse atmosphere he was in. He could enjoy two birds flying and love-making on the shore of the stream but got angry and cursed the hunter who separated the pair. His humaneness was the biggest achievement of his thapas in the ant hill. And what is there in a human if he is not humane!
‘Ma Nishada!”
And what an ideal beginning for a wonderful life story ! ” Ma nishada! No hunter, no” That pleading, soaked in compassion and tinged with anger runs through out the great epic.
“Ma Kaikeyi, Ma Soorpanakha, Ma Mareecha, Ma Ravana, Ma kumbhkarna and ultimately “Ma Ramachandra” -when his hero was about to throw his pregnant wife, the precious jewel which he recovered after great sacrifice, into wild forest. But none heard his voice!
Valmiki could not prevent the disaster of the love birds but he could give shelter and solace to the heroin of his epic and thus save the royal lineage, educate the children and serve to unite the broken royal couple. He was fortunate to receive a wonderful gift too- he could hear his own songs by the children trained by him who are none other than his hero’s sons and the ‘ arangettam’ (maiden exposition) of the epic was in the court of Lord himself, in His royal presence!
Blessed was he and to receive such an honor, one can spend a life time inside the anthill.
Hyderabad,
May 13, 2009
Akkilli Pikkili
“Hello! Gopaln Nair. Happy Onam.”
” Edo, Sami! I am Govindan, not Goplan Nair.”
” How does it matter whether you are Gopalan
or Govindan; you are Nair alright?”
‘Hello! It may not matter to you; but it matters to my wife”
“How?”
” My insurance policy is in the name of Govindan Nair”
” Ammini is a woman of wisdom. What payasam has she prepared for Onam?’
” Sami! You are getting old too fast .Today is Vishu and not Onam”
“How does it matter whether today is Onam or Vishu ? your wife will prepare
Palpayasam, I know”
“You are wrong again. your wife is preparing palpayasam ; not mine”
‘But why should she come and prepare the palpayasam in your house. Our
kitchen is not big enough for her size? ”
‘She is cooking in her own kitchen and not mine”
“How do you know that, unless you are in my house?”
“I am in your house!’
“Doing what? Pestering my wife to make appam and vadai?”
“No need. My wife is already doing that in your kitchen”
“Gopalan Nair. Give the phone to my wife”
” I am telling you again, Sami. My name is Govindan Nair. Speak to
Ammalu.”
“Ammalu! What is Ammini doing in your kitchen?”
“Ammini is not in our kitchen. We both are in Theresa kutti’s kitchen. You forgot that we all came
here to celebrate Christmas?”
“I came along with you? Where am I now?”
“In the backyard of this house , wasting money on calls?”
“Call Jacob.”
“He is standing behind you”
“Jacob, are you behind me?”
“No. you are behind me”
“‘Who stands behind whom, I care not
Who moves ahead is what I look for’.
Have you forgotten this famous couplet of Vyasa in his ‘Valmiki Ramayanam?. Our English professor Neelakantan Sir used to take one full hour to explain the meaning of those two lines. ”
“Sami! It was Kalidasa and not Shakespeare who wrote that. You have completely forgotten your .
Physics”
‘Jocob! We were discussing about chemistry and not literature”
“Let me ask Menon. Edo, Menon! Who wrote Macbeth, Valmiki or Vyasa?”
“Thante Atchan. Theresa kutty wants both of you here immediately.She is hungry”
“Jacob! Menon is getting hot .Poor guy, he is ageing. Are we also ageing Jacob? After all we are the same group”
“We are not. Our women are ageing. Ammini remembers the name of the
policy holder, Ammalu noticed that you are wasting calls and Theresa
remembers that I am her husband”
“‘Any way let us get inside and eat. Theresa kutty is hungry. I can’t see my wife starving.”
“Ente Karthave! Now he is entering into danger zone.Sami, you are definitely ageing..”
‘Ha,ha,ha! You have started loving your wife and therefore you are ageing man!”
Pallavur and Kavaseri
Parakkattu Bagavathi of Kavassery
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The bus travel in the morning hours, through the peripheral villages of Palakkad, with cool breeze petting and patting from all sides, is alluring, especially when the paddy fields on both sides are rich with crops ready for harvesting. There is a rhythm in the movement of women walking with their head-loads, across the narrow borders of the fields, the silent grazing of cattle on the bank of ponds or the chirping and chattering of the school children in uniform.
People rush out of their house hearing the noise of the approaching bus or stand on the road side and command the bus to stop by hand motion. They do not wave the hand, as we do in the cities, while seeking a lift, but hold it in a particular angle or sometime simply nod to request for a halt. The driver does not grumble even if he had to stop the vehicle every five or ten yards. The conductor does not blow the whistle or ring the bell soon after the passenger gets into the bus but gives a vocal clearance ‘haa’ or bangs on the body of the bus with his wrist. The traveler- friendly attitude of the private buses is a boon to those who commutes in the early hours to attend to their work.
Malayalees, perhaps, use the body language, as a supplement and sometime even as a substitute, more than others. While driving through the outskirts of the Hyderabad city,sometime ago, I sought the help of a pedestrian, to reach a particular place. He stretched his right hand above the shoulder, closed his eyes, bent his head slightly to left and said,”straiiiiiight!”, giving an idea of the distance , the way he dragged the word ’straight’.
“‘Malayaliyanu alle? -you are from Kerala, I guess”, I remarked, to thank him.
‘Athey, athey, athey” Yes’ he confirmed nodding thrice.
Kavassery:
Parakkatu Baghavaty temple at Kavassery, like many other small temples, including my ‘kuladevada (family deity)’s at Chittellenchery, is prospering, thanks to the financial support mostly from the non-Brahmin community. It is satisfying to worship at those places, mostly silent and solitary ,with their own simplicity and sanctity.You feel at home. The surroundings are generally clean and tidy and the gush of unwanted thoughts into the mind, minimum . It provides an ideal ambiance for meditation.
From the Parakkattu temple, I walked down the narrow lanes, to visit my mother’s ‘tharavadu’ or ancestral house, perhaps the only Brahmin abode now,in the Kongalakkodu village . I was visiting that sleepy village dotted with a silent Srikrishna temple and a small pond, after several years. My elder cousin, lives there. Neither the vicissitudes of life nor the waning health has tampered his temerity or temperament and he continues to be proud and boisterous as he was during his prime period. His ‘poda-po’- dare-devil attitude while facing insurmountable problems of life, is admirable. He is, in fact,the role model for my ‘Parasu’ character, in my “Oh, pramasukham” story .He needed my support to get up from his bed but once he was seated on the ‘thinnai’, an elevated extension in the frontage, he started commanding, ‘aarada avade-who there?”. I remembered my father: with not an anna – a small coin- in his pocket, he had the proud of a millionaire and capacity to tide over adverse conditions like an expert sailor.
I was excited to imagine that my mother as a child would have played along with her sibling around the small tank and my grand father, with his fore-head, chest and arms glistening with ‘vibhooti’ marks and silver edged ‘Rudrasham’, would have recited ‘Vishnu sahsranamam’ inside the temple. Both of them have left this world but the house, temple and pond remains. Non-living things often outlive what we call ‘living’ ones.
A big pendulum clock acquired by my grand father or his father, still standing erect in a corner of my library , strikes in agreement, loudly and lavishly.
Pallavur:
I met two more persons close to our family in Pallavur, another small and sleepy village with a disproportionately big Siva temple, famous for the ‘ Ezham vilakku’ festival during the Navarathry days. One was my cousin sister, who has chosen to live alone in the village though her only daughter in the city and her children would like her to be with them. She might be between eighty five and ninety, but prefer to toddle down the slippery steps leading to the pond almost every morning, for ablution, instead of having her bath inside a closed room. There is a pleasure in taking bath in a village pond,when the sun smiles from above and small fishes tickle your feet from below. And our elders, thoughtfully, dug out one or two ponds in every village. Kalpathy is an exception; it is on the bank of a river.
I sent word for Paru Amma, who served our family for nearly fifty years. As usual, clad in a snow white ‘mundu’ she came smiling from ear to ear, when I realised that there is no need for a set of sparkling teeth to flash a smile. For, like cry, smile emerges out of the heart of villagers. Paru Amma,also in her late eighties,is not our kin but lived as one for several years in our family. She was picked up by my father from the Valayar forests while collecting fire wood and employed in our house, initially to take care of the cattle. By unalloyed affection, admirable integrity and sustained hard work, she became a de facto member of the family and served three generations.
‘Appaachy’s atmasanthi’, was molded keeping her in my mind. This is how I introduced my leading character in the story.
“She was there, with us, in the family when I was born, when my siblings were born and also when our children were born; she was there with us through the vicissitudes of life for over 50 years, when our parents and a few others passed away, when we got married and when some of our children got married,and in almost all family functions, when we went on pilgrimage or almost wherever we went.She helped our parents to bring us up and helped us to bring up our children.. Her habits were clean, her hands cleaner with the result that the house always remained unlocked when she was at home and never had we to regret on that count. She quarreled some time with us, collected her cloth bundle and walked away, vowing that she would never step into our house again, only to return before the next meal time for the kids. Father used to shout at her and threaten to throw her out, but in the next five minutes he could be seen pleading for a tobacco bit from her. ”She behaves like a mother-in-law” the daughters -in-law of the house used to complain to their husbands but used to rush to her for her advice if their kids sneeze more than once or wet their garment more than twice. All the children in the family loved,respected and treated her as they would treat their mother or grand mother as they all were aware of the role played by her in nourishing and nursing them up with unalloyed affection and undiluted care.”
Under a cool sky, embraced by the benevolent breeze from the pond, three of us spent the whole night, recapitulating the past.
Call me to sing a Kathakali song
Another trip to down south and attendance at another inter-caste wedding.
A big iron ‘oral’ used for de-husking paddy and pounding rice, occupies the center of the stage and a small trunk of peepul tree wrapped with yellow cloth, nearby.
The girl is sweet with a graceful smile and satisfied look; the boy is nervous, glances now and then to catch the reaction of his orthodox father and whispers at my ear, ” manage the situation if it turns ugly”. The bride’s group do not mingle with the bride-groom’s and the division is awkward . Children are playing around blissfully unaware of the heat around. The vadyar leads the proceedings in the conventional Brahmin style and intermittently the purohit from the girl’s side proceeds according to their style. While inhumanly enjoying the unnecessary confusion in conducting the wedding, by clubbing the two styles, I think of my nephew’s wedding in Guwhati, a few years ago.The day’s proceedings were as per the Brahmin customs and at night, it was according to the practice of Assameese Kashtriyas, the community to which the girl belongs to.There was fun there too. I had to act as a Vadyar there, in the absence of the professional who missed the flight from Kolkata and I managed the show too well. albeit with a little knowledge of the proceedings and zero ability in chanting mantras.The real fun was when I distributed the ‘akshatai( the sacred rice mixed with turmeric powder, for placing on the head of the newly wedded couple when they bow before the elders, as a mark of their showering the blessing. The elders placed the yellow rice on their own head ! I should have foreseen the problem and counseled them in advance. Even experts err, sometime!.
I move towards the gigantic figure with a gorgeous mustache standing near the girl on the stage and utter a few words to gain his friendship. He clasps his hands and laughs loudly as if he was enjoying a joke, to make which I had no courage in his presence. Leading me to the stage, he asks me to collect rice, thrice, from the heap already arranged, by both hands, and drop the cereal down.”The couple needs your blessings” he remarks.
No confusion here as to the selection of heads to place the sacred symbol of blessing; Simply drop it down allowing to get it mixed with the heap below, its original place. Ultimately that is what happens to us all, whether you wear a thread around your shoulder or not, is it not?
The bride-grooms father calls me aside to admonish, “Avankitte unnkku ennada petchu?(What on earth are you talking to him) and mutters helplessly, “nan ennada seiven?”(What could I do now?).
I arrange his ‘panjagatcham’ in proper shape and tell him in a low voice, ” if you were less traditional and younger to me, I would have invited you to share my bottle of Italian wine or at least to play Rummy.There is only one thing we can do now-” I drag him towards a big peepul tree in the garden, make him to sit on its platform and loudly sing a couplet from the Nalacharitham’ Kathakali.
‘Aakrithy kandal athi rambheyam
Aaral ivalude atharam peyam”
Like me, my friend is a lover of Kathakakali and he enjoys the music, forgetting for a moment his unwanted anxieties about the inter-cast marriage that has just taken place in his family .A colorfully dressed damsel passes through, gazing at us and gurgles. Blissfully she does not know the meaning of the song which is somewhat like this:
‘ She is extremely beautiful; I feel kissing her lips”‘
Had she known the meaning, the mustached ‘Kownder’ would have tied me to the tree and de-skinned or even smashed my bones to tiny particles- He had, anticipating such eventuality, made readily available, both the tree and the iron de-husker, on the stage.
Moral of the story:
If your ward is marrying a girl sans your approval, call me to sing a Kathakali song, but make sure that no iron ‘oral’ or trunk on the stage.
Hyderabad
March 14, 2009
Perinkulam
I was fortunate this year too, to attend the car festival at Perinkulam, my native village. Hei, wait a minute. How do I say that Perinkulam is my native village? I was not born there, I did not grow there nor did I live there for more than a few days. The village name which was hibernating inside the shell of a single letter initial, stood up proudly and prominently, in my passport and from then on, I am known as Perinkulam, in my mails and other correspondence.
” Can I have your passport, Perinkulam?’ asks the official in the check -in counters of hotel and airports.
“My name is not that, it is my village ” I was about to tell him but instantly restrain my tongue.
” Meet senior Perinkulam”, friends of my children introduce me to others. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that it is me, who is being introduced.
Óh, Perinkulama ? Nanum Perinkulam than- I am also from Perinkulam” boasts a stranger in a cultural meet . I am amused at his camaraderie, as I recall how men of our two neighboring villages, total length not more than a furlong or two, quarrel on very petty issues.
“I am also from Perinkulam” writes a reader, ” and I like your stories” I send a reply thanking him, murmuring, “he likes my stories only because I am from his village! What a disgrace for my art!”
My children also are known as Perinkulams, though they hardly know that place.
“Look at your own name” I exhort them when they blame me about my occasional wandering in the pavilions of past. ” Your past is so prominently, unalterably projected there.” After some time I add, ” your children may never visit that village or it might be known by some other name when your grand children are born but they still will be known as Ṕerinkulams, though they might settle in the Mars or the Moon .¨.
Whatś in a name? ¨ asks Shakespeare, ẗhat which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” It will, no doubt. But, the moment I hear the word ŕose’ its fragrance and beauty spreads in my mind, which cannot happen with another name.
The procession of chariots, one behind the other, beautifully decorated with flowers, flags, sugarcane, coconuts and plantain bunches, ceremoniously drawn through the streets by hundreds of devotees, following the synchronized beat of the percussionists and pushed by the elephants, become all the more attractive when they cross the bank of the the big pond, called ‘Perinkulam’, through a ‘z’ shaped small stretch of land.The natural bend of the road, the pond on the back ground, the setting sun and the Siva temple in the center of the two villages make the procession glamorous.
“Ï am pulling the Godś vehicle!” I think for a moment and feel proud of my physical strength. The realism overtakes the false proud instantly, when I see around, hundreds of other hands too pulling the vehicle along with mine and an elephant too at the back to push the chariot! Several successes in life have brought that false prestige in me and more I think over the matter, I realise that it was all a combined effort -with a huge figure pushing from the back.
After the show was over, I retire to a corner of the temple, with none there except the God inside, and muse over the past. I pick up a handful of earth from the premises and asks myself, “how did I get emotionally attached to this soil, which did not give me birth, which did not feed me and which, in fact played no part in my development?.
My mind goes back to several years and I recall the story as told to me about the migration of my grand parents to that village. Having lost everything in life, wealth, children, status, health and honour, they landed in this village, full of rocks , accepting the gracious offer of an uncle to shelter them in a small mud house with four walls and many fruit trees around. The mud house has disappeared but that vacant land, which I can see from the temple, is still there, sheltering the Godś chariot, as a humble expression of gratitude to Navaneetha Krishanan, for the mercy showered on the progeny of the refugees who took shelter under His feet long ago..
That was practically the beginning of our known family history, as the earlier golden period of prosperity was forgotten for all practical purposes . I do not know when our ancestors migrated from Tamil Nadu but I am told that they were from a place called Vancheeyam because the first sons of all the branches of the clan, was named after that village deity, Vancheeswaran. My father did visit that place once in his life time and I am yet to do that.
Having lost his father when he was very young and no other means of livelihood, my father, migrated to Palakkad, to start a small business, with practically zero investment but with a monstrous mental acumen, courage and will power. It was that journey by walk, along with my mother and me, a six months old baby, that paved the way later, for the jet flying of his children and grand children.
so was my migration to Hyderabad, twenty years later, which led to the later relocation of my siblings which resulted subsequently, in their progenyś migration to west.Now most of the youngsters in the family are settled abroad.The forebears souls, I am sure, will rest in peace because their earthy descendants are having a square meal, which they themselves did lack for sometime. And for parents, that is the best news they crave to have, not what the children don, pant of panchagatcham.
. Human migration has been taking place, since long, due to various reasons, economic, socio- political, religious and many such , may be to the next village or city or to a far away country . Overcoming the obstructions of the oceans and mountains, they have been migrating and so are the birds, animals, seeds and thoughts.
My thoughts come back to the handful of soil and recall that my bare chested, bare footed ancestors wold have walked over this soil with almost a bare stomach, but always reciting the Vedic verses which invokes universal love and affection, sympathy for the suffering and support for the falling. Their ashes would have mingled with this soil and it still moist with their tears and sweat. The smell of sacred ash and saffron is still fresh in the handful of material I have.
“Forget the past; live in the present” I read every where But how?
How do I forget my Hyderabad house, “Anantha Jyothy”, the cradle of our dreams and witness of our growth and disaster, within the four walls of which my children learned to crawl, struggled to get up and walk and stood proudly on their tiny legs? How I am to forget that soil, which is the same as the one I have in my hand, which nourished our family and also absorbed the ashes of my dear and near?
How am I forget the soil of Baltimore or Florida, which is the same as the one in my hand, which gave wings to my artistic aspiration , dormant for fifty years and made me to write stories, one of which stirred a good soul so intensely that he, poured his heart,in the following lines:
“At least in one of my future births I would like to be your student, your sibling, your whatever, in whatever manner I would like to be associated with you, may be a doormat in your house…
I salute you Sir, endaro mahanubavulu, andariki vandanamulu…
You have given me immense happiness today. Thank you from the pits of my heart”
It is worthwhile to spend a life time to give immense happiness to a soul, even for a moment.
The hands pulling the chariot here, are exclusively mine but a huge elephant, embodiment of wisdom and virtues, pushes from the back always and if my mind goes into hibernation and hands become too weak, the great pachyderm comes to the front, pulls the chariot and carry me on its head too.
Ebullient by emotional propelling, I stand before the sanctum and sing the first stanza from my own composition ¨ Namai nithyam Navaneetha Krishnam”.
“NANDADMAJAM NITHYAKISORA ROOPAM,
VRINDVANARADITHA VENUGANAM,
ANANTHA,MAANANDA MAHAASAMUDRAM,
NAMAMI NITHYAM NAVANEETHA KRISHNAM”.
Immersed in the enchanting beauty of the ” ANANTHA,MAANANDA MAHAASAMUDRAM”, I then, sing from the immortal ‘Mukunda mala” of Kulasekhra Perumal;
‘Naham vandhe thava charnayor, dwantha madwantha hetho,
Kumbheepakam gurumapihare,tharakam napanethum.
Ramya rama mriduthanulatha nanthane napirandhum
Bhave, bhave, hridaya bhavane, bhavayeyam bhavantham”
Bhave, bhave hridaya bhavane bhavayeyam Bhavantham¨
The Ánantha Jyothy always shines in my heart, then how does it matter whether I am in Perinkulam or Baltimore?
Slowly, my mind dissolves into a big pool of divine compassion and grace and in that ¨Perinkulam´, floats on a lotus leaf, a lovely baby, holding his lotus-like leg with his lotus-like hand towards his lotus-like mouth, while I continue with my thapas for the birth of one more lotus bud to be placed at that Divine graciousness.
Can I have your passport, Perinkulam?’ asks the official in the check -in counter.
I hand him over the document without any hesitation.
Hyderabad,
April, 18 2009
KALIYA MARDHANAM
“Holding a lamp in your hand and anxiety in your long lovely eyes, whom are you searching for, my child?”
” I am looking for my Kannan. Who are you grandpa, tottering with a weathered body and a dry stick?”
“Instead of asking me who I am, ask yourself “who am I ?”
“The cows are back home but not the herd. The sky is overcast with black clouds threatening a devastating down pour anytime; they collide with boisterous war cries shaking the roots and roof of my soul. The ghostly storm rocks and sways violently the city and citadels and I am worried why my precious one has not come back home yet.”
“Ha, ha; you are searching for the one who creates the storms and absorbs it? Look Yasodha, where is the storm? The slumbering sky is silently rocking clouds in her palm and the meditating trees have already put their leaves to sleep. the storm is within you, not outside? Close your eyes and look deep within”
“Within me? Let me do as you command.
“Yes; You are right, grandpa; the seismic sea waves are swallowing the lands and mountains and I see a great snake with thousand hoods emerging out of the deep sea.
‘Atha dikshu vidukshuparikshupitha
Bramithodharavari ninadhaparai
Udagadudagad uragathipathi-
sthatupanthamasantharushanthamana:’
“Who is this monstrous sea animal and where did he come from, grandpa? His eyes emit fire and tongues pour out poison burning everything far and near”
“He is Kaliya and he has surfaced from the cavern of your mind. In fact, he hides in every mind and manifests when there is a violent volcanic eruption”
“Will this cruel animal attack my child also when he grows to a man?”
“kannan is beyond all attachments and the snake is nothing but your attachment, Yasodha”
“Is it undesirable to have attachment to my own son?”
“Attachment is never unpriced”
‘Means?”
“the sun’s rays and cloud”s showers are for every animated and non-animated beings. You want to make the sun which provides heat and light to the sun, your own. You want to hold the cloud which moves in the vast expanse motivating all clouds, in your little cloth sachet hanging from your apparel? Is it not greediness, Yasodha? Sorrow soaks your heart waiting for Kannan . you become angry, jealous and sad when you fail to capture the universe within your cupped palm.Is it not so? Why are you silent, Yasodha?”
“I hear a rhythmic beat from within”
“Those are your Kannan’s little legs pounding on your greed, anger and jealousy- his dance over Kaliya’s hoods”.
“I hear a lovely tune from the flute of my child; the harmony sweeps through my nerves. What is happening to me, grand pa?”
‘Look within. The divine dance has started”
“Wah, what a sight is this! My little one is dancing on the horrific head of Kaliya and the angels are enjoying the sight by raining flowers. The whole sky is filled with glistening stars and scented breeze is enveloping the earth. My heart- beats resonates with the tune of his movement.
‘Ruchira kampitha kundala manditha
Suchirameesa! na narthitha pannagea
Amarathaditha dundhubhisundaram
Viyathi gayathi deivathayaouvanea”
“It is the divine dance of life, Yasodha. It continues. Look again and tell me what you see now.”
“The turbulent sea has turned into a tranquil pond of clear water and I see lotus flowers every where”
‘And?”
“And my Kannan is floating on a banyan leaf, biting his tiny toe navigated by his tiny hand. In the spread of lotus flowers, it is hard to identify my child, whose each limb resembles a lotus .
Kararavindena padaravindam
Mukaravinde vinivesayantham
Vadasya pathrasya pude sayantham
Balam Mukundam manasawaramy’
“How lovely is this sight! It was you who opened my eyes to see this magnificent scene. Who are you grandpa, tottering with a weathered body and a dry stick?”
“Instead of asking me who I am, ask yourself “who am I ?”
“I see neither me nor you, a rickety old man nor the trees or anything around, other than a luminance radiating peace and joy.
“‘Agrepasyami thejo nibhidatharakala -yaavalee lobhaneeyam
Peeyooshaplavithoham thadhanu thaadhudare, divyakaisora vesham
Tharunyarambaha ramyam paramasukharasaswada romanjithaier,
Aveetham Naradadiar vilasdupanishat sundaree mandalaicha.
I see before me a heavenly extravaganza in the form of an exceptionally handsome and extremely sublime human form at the threshold of youth, fully ornamented, overflowing with compassion. Immersed in the nectar of absolute peace , I am enjoying the unalloyed blitz and freedom of the eternal. Are you not my little child whom I tied to a post to prevent his moments, without knowing that he is the mover of the sun, moon, earth and other planets? Are you not the tiny one whom I tried to encompass within my hands without realizing that the whole universe is encompassed by you? Are you not the sovereign power that sways over the universe, who came in the form of an old man to open my jaundiced eyes?
I am now free from, adversity, sorrow, perplexity, greed or jealousy. I behold the world now as your very image. I see nothing before me other than your enchanting divine form.Who am I Baghavan?”
YOU ARE THAT. തത്വമസി മാതേ तत्त्वमसि माते tattwamasi mathey
‘Baltimore
Aug 17, 2008
Vaikkathashtami-An emotional extravaganza
From Kasi to Kalpathy for the car festival and from there to Vaikom for Ashtami, soon after returning from the US, was a spiritually rejuvenating reward. The presiding deity of the oldest Shiva temple in Kerala, is affectionately called Vaikkathappan, father of Vaikkom or Mahadevan, God of gods. The sacred vaikkathashtami festival lasting twelve days, takes place during the dark lunar fortnight of the Malayalam month Vrichikam and concludes on the Ashtami day. People from far and wide converge there in thousands to pray and receive the blessings of the God.
True to his name everything is ‘mahat’, big and great there. Situated on the shores of the Vembanattu kayal or backwaters, in a huge courtyard of about eight acre land, with four big gopurams or towers on all four sides, two elephant houses in the east, the campus welcomes you with a broad pathway, lavishly leveled with crystal white river- sand, where elephants in a row march majestically, carrying the ‘thidambhu’ or symbolic idols of the gods. The main entrance to the Sreekovil, sanctum sanctorum itself is an imposing structure with a high roof supported by gigantic pillars. Even the temporary shed constructed for the annual Ashtami festival, with uprooted fully grown areca palms as pillars, is so huge that jumbo elephants pass through it, in procession, majestically and comfortably. It is so high that the tip of the tall umbrellas over their head, held high by those standing on the pachyderms, do not touch the roof! The six feet tall Sivalingam, installed on a three foot platform looks magnificent. The kitchen, the vessels, the lamp holders, umbrellas and other accessories for the elephant procession-everything is ‘mahat’ there! And almost in every house in Vaikom, there will be at least one person named ‘Mahadevan’.
According to the legends it was on the Vrichika-krishnapaksha -Asthami day , the God appeared before Vyagrapada Maharishi who was the custodian of the Lingam handed over by Khara and later consecrated by Parasurama. In the morning, the God is worshiped as Dakshina moorthy, the great guru who imparts of wisdom and knowledge, and at noon, as Kirathamoorthy, giver of success in all endeavors( sarva karya jayam) and remover of obstacles ( sarva vighnopasanthi). In the evening, the Lord assumes the form of ‘shakthi panchakshari), is in a very happy mood, enjoying his leisure with the divine consort and sons, Ganesha and Karthikeya. Ideal time to ask for what you want!
After paying obeisance to the magnificent golden flag staff and the Stambha Ganapathy in the north eastern corner of the Belikalpura, I walk further and enter the Namaskara mandapam where the Ramayana story is sculptured on the inner roof. The huge single stone Nandi gives me permission silently, to move towards the Sreekovil. It is round in shape, roofed with copper plates and has two chambers, the outer one, the Mukha mandapam and the Gharbha griha, the inner chamber.
Ha! What a magnificent manifestation of the cosmic consciousness is this, in my front!
I see three prominent, glittering chandrakalas, crescents, adoring the head of the Lord and their captivating appearance stimulates every nerve center resulting in a spontaneous flow of Sankaracharya’s immortal ‘ Sivanadhalahari”, from the cavern of my heart.
“Kalabhyam choodalamkritha sasi kalabhyam ——
I see three prominent eyes, so powerful that fire of anger emitted by one of them, I have no doubt, would have turned the god of love into ashes, when he intervened in a wrong time.—
I see a prominent nose, ‘thripundram’, three white lines of ash marks, colourful garlands around and the golden icon of his physical form in the center with the Ganges on the head, rudraksham on the chest, snakes around the neck and siva abharanams on his four hands.
I become emotional, struggle for words but somehow completes the slokam,
“Karasthe Heamdrau, girisa nikatasthe dhanapathau,
Grihasthe swarbhoojaamara surabhi, chinthamani ganey,
Sirasthea seethamsove, charanayugalstheghila subhe
Kamartham dasyoham, bhavathu bhavdartham mama mana.”
“The golden mountain is in your hands; Kubhera, the lord of wealth is close by; Chinthamani,Kamdhenu and Klapaka tree adore your house; all heavenly auspicious things are at your feet; the moon adores your head. What is there I have with me, to offer you, oh! Mahadeava? I have nothing else but my mind.”
“It is, indeed, an immersion in ‘anantha lahari or absolute bliss, to stand before the great God and recite the slokas soaked in bakthi or devotion and beauty. A marvelous experience it was, the Vaikathashtami worship. Absolute peace and unalloyed bliss- that was what I experienced on that morning.
The monkeys of the mind were waiting for me to come out of the Sreekovil and the moment I was out of reach of those power triple eyes of the Lord, they started playing their tricks. Deep down from the valley of memory, the taste of ‘pappadams’ and ‘paladapradhaman’ appeared on the tongue tip, untimely though not unnecessarily.
‘Where is the thidappally?,’ I inquired a good looking woman, coming out of the shrine, clad in snow white mundu. That was an unnecessary, untimely question but attracted by her serene looks and charm, I uttered some stupid words, as it has become a habit with me for some time now.
‘Thirumenikku enthaa visakkunno- it appears you are hungry?,’ She asked, kindness and consideration reflecting through a simple innocent smile. I blinked as usual.
‘Hold my hand if you don’t want to fall on your knees. Pakshe jan chovathyia- but I belong to backward community,’ She was worried that I would be pushed down by the surging crowd.
‘But, you are charmin,’ I smiled and offered my hand and added, ‘I am not a Namboodiri (Kerala Brahmin); anyway, hold my hand firm’
Kuttymalu, that was her name, took me to the grand kitchen full of huge copper and brass vessels. ‘This is the place where the ‘pradal’, the great offering to the ‘Annadana prabhu’ is prepared,’ She bent down, touched the floor and taking the dust to her head, continued, ‘This is a holy place, where, Vaikkathappan was seen working. Therefore, the ashes from the fire- wood ovens here, is the main prasadam in the temple. It is believed to possess curative power’
‘Yes, I know,’ I replied. ‘I have in my house one such rosary brought by my wife, long back . She was born here’. That statement brought us still closer.
‘That is the ‘Manyasthana’ where the Lord, disguised as Brahmin, was seen eating his ‘pradal’ and a sacred lamp, ‘badradeepa’ is kept there, even today, as a mark of respect to the God, before the mass feeding starts’
She then took me around and showed the other sacred places like, Vyagrapadasthana, where the great saint performed pooja and received the blessing of the Lord in person, Mathrusala, where the belistones of seven divine mothers are worshiped, theerthas or holy tanks and many other things.
Pointing her finger at the top of the flag post, she said, ‘the twelve day festival commences with a ceremonial hosting of the flag and the thread for the holy flag is brought with pomp and pride, by a fisherman of Untassery family. This right is the reward granted by the then ruler, the Maharaja, for helping him and his parivar for crossing the backwaters in an emergency. In fact, every section of the society participates in the celebration and do you know that the NSS and SNDP (prominent social organizations) conduct the first three days’ festivals. Even goldsmiths have a part to play. Four Brahmin groups, ‘samoohams’, compete with each other in serving rich foods to the devotees.’ (The taste of the idichupuzhinja payasam, a variety of pudding, I enjoyed that noon in the Vaikkom samooham, is still fresh on my tongue- full four servings I had; hell with my diabetes)
‘Why do you laugh?,’ She inquired removing the sand from a granite platform, with her upper garment, preparing a seat for us, while repeating her statement about the presence of the God in the kitchen. ‘Did I say anything wrong?’
‘You didn’t,’ I confessed, ‘I was enjoying mentally the sight of the Lord, in the form of a cook, holding a long ladle, with his dothy tied above his knees, and his body painted with holy ash here and there,: I replied, looking into her eyes to see whether she was able to catch up with me.
As calmly as she took my hand to lead me out of the rush inside the temple, Kuttimalu, who teaches Sanskrit in a college,spontaneously but slowly recited the sloka from ‘Kumarasambhavam’ related to Uma’s brusque reply to shiva who appeared before her in the form a vadu (Brahmin bachelor) and denounced the attributes of the Lord.
“Vibhooshanolbhasi pinaghta boghi va,
Gajajinalambi dukoola dhari va,
Kapaliva,syadhathavendu sekharam,
Na Viswamoortheyravadharyathe vapu:”
Adorned by jewels or crisscrossed by snakes, attired by elephant skin or silk cloth, carrying the moon or skull on the head, no one knows the real form of the Viswamoorthy , the omnipresent.
That settled it. Here is a person who speaks my language. For hours together, sitting under the golden flag post, we discussed about the great epic of the immortal poet.
Comes night and we are in, to get enthralled by the most famous ashtami vilakku.
Having learnt that Karthikeya , his son was engaged in a war with Tharakasura, Vaikkathappan, the ‘jagath pita’ or father of the universe, becomes restless and like any other earthly father, awaits anxiously, for hours together, for his successful return. The lights are dim, the drum beat dull and occasional and He is alone on an elephant, unaccompanied by any royal escorts. The people who witnessed the pompous procession of the Lord, a little while ago, sit silently sharing His anguish and anxiety. The sky is derived of clouds and the air gloomy. Time drags on.
Suddenly the sound of drum beats and pipe music becomes audible from a distance and we go outside. Yes, it is Karthikeya, the Sura senani’s victory parade, after conquering the asura. He is coming from Udayanapuram, his abode, with his court and army, to meet his parents and pay tribute.
The royal procession of the celestial army chief, is awesome. I have never seen such a breath taking procession anywhere. A score of majestic tuskers in their caparisoned splendor, With mahouts atop them, holding glittering idols of Karthikeya and other devathas, high tinseled silk parasols (muthukuda) and swaying white tufts (venchamaram) and peacock feather fans (aalavattom) lead by a big orchestra of drummers and pipers, arrive majestically towards the eastern gate of the temple where the Lord is waiting patiently. The people of the town has arranged a rousing reception for the winners, with Nirapara(paddy filled brass measures), nilavailakku(brass ornamental lamps), flowers, thoranas(decorative small flags artistically woven with leaves from the coconut and plantain trees) etc.
A happy and proud father gets ready to meet his son of valor along with others. The oil lamps glow brighter, the drum- beats become louder, the pipes and bugles pour out melody. The divine meeting is so artistic and articulate that people become emotional and their enthusiasm is infective.
All the caparisoned elephants, there are a dozen of them, assemble around the proud jumbo carrying the head of the family. For more than an hour, the whole family celebrates their union and victory of the family member, which brings peace for the world, , when drummers and pipers produce their best and the lamp holders illuminate the whole campus. People rejoice.
Even good things have to come to an end and it is time now to say good bye. Karthikeya and others, take leave of the divine parents. Their elephants, one by one, slowly and sadly approach the patriarch, bend the right knee, raise the trunk, and bow before him. The jumbo of the father, lifts the trunk and blesses. There is practically no high sounding drum-beating and the music flowing from the pipes, nadaswarms, is soft and sorrowful. Not only the people who witness the scene of separation but even the elephants bow their heads with sorrow.
The father slowly comes to the main gate to see the children off and one by one, they take leave again.
By attributing form for the formless and providing family and shelter to the one for whom the entire universe is abode and family, we derive a unique pleasure We feel that, by doing so, the God has come closer to us. The Kalpathy car festival, The Vaikkathashtamy and several other celebrations illustrate this .
While returning from the temple after the fireworks at around four in the morning, I asked Kuttymalu, how the elephants were acting so meticulously, as if they were trained for a professional circus show.
‘They are trained to synchronize their action with the sound from the sanku, conch,’ she clarified .
‘And their eyes were moist!’
‘As they are animals’
‘I understood, Kuttimalu’. I held her hand without her asking.
‘I like you Kuttimalu,’ I said and held her close to me.
‘Won’t you come for the next Ashtami?’, She asked while bidding adieu, along with her parents. ‘I am your Karthikeya , though I have not won a battle’
‘You are,’ I asserted, ‘ You have won my heart’
‘Now your eyes are moist,’ she taunted me with a mischievous smile and queried, ‘that means?’
‘I am an animal,’ I admitted and moved towards the bus-stand.
I had no courage to turn back and say ‘good bye’ again.
Hyderabad
Jan 13, 2009
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Leaving for the Kerala trip, with my sister, her daughter in law and little Ishaan tomorrow. The top priority in the otherwise sightseeing tour is Vaikkathashatmi on the 7th of this month, which happens to be my actual birthday, though my official birthday has passed on, with the benign blessings of the gods at the Greater Baltimore temple, to whose divine presence , my son Sharath and DIL Meghana, lead me with love and care. The Vaikkathappan’s darisanam on the dawn of the next day also happens to be important for me as that will be my star day, vritchika Hastham, according to the perinkulam astrolger Mookkunni, who wrote my janmapatrika, a valuable, though seldom used written document.
It was three years ago that I was earlier endowed with the blessings of participation in the extravaganza of Ashtami celebrations, which was so enthralling that I came out with a story, “Vaikkathashtami, an emotional extravaganza”, which drew the appreciation of many and severe censorial slashing from a senior scholar whom I revere for his elucidate writing and enviable knowledge. The reason for the ire of the elderly soul was my narrated companionship with an imaginary character,Kuttimalu, an young woman who helped to go around the temple explaining the importance of places and events. My explanation that the woman never existed in reality and was purely a product of my imagination and my narration was linked to the union of the Divine Father and His son and the subsequent separation, movingly enacted by the caparisoned pachyderms carrying the idols of Vaikkathappan and Subramania Swamy, didn’t carry much weight with that puritan Brahmanasri and our debate went on for days, giving literary entertainment to the readers.
This is the problem if a writer combines reality with imaginary events and characters, in his works, but having used to that habit, I find it hard to come out of it. I am writing stories not autobiography.
The skirmish with the senior, however, left no ill feeling in our relationship, thanks to his generous heart. My respect for the elderly scholar continues. He too continues to love me and magnanimously and unreservedly blessed my children when I invited him for their weddings, in July this year. The strong and silky cultural web that winds our elders is so elastic that it can afford to absorb any shock but suffers no fracture or retains any dust , when the windstorm passes away.
Vaikkathappan’s call came again unexpectedly while I was in USA and I am more excited now (not with the hope of meeting with my imaginary woman- friend 
, but because I can meet my Lord on my janmanakshatram ) .
If the life is tuned in a spiritual mode, unexpected union with the Divinity occurs. Who expected this day, last month in Florida, I will be making a trip to Vaikkam to submit my obeisance to the Mahadevar that too on my birthday.
Hyderabad,
Dec. 3, 2012
KALPATHY CAR FESTIVAL-A GRAND FAMILY AFFAIR
.
Kalpathi car festival
No sooner I landed at the place of my birth to participate in the annual car festival this year, after an unpardonable gap of many years, than I rushed to the river for a dip, before visiting the recently renovated temple of Viswanathaswamy to offer prayers. I am familiar with the moods of the Kalpathy river, having spent several pleasant evenings on its bank, idly lying on the sand- bed gazing at the setting sun or at the silvery clouds descending from the neighboring mountains. Mostly, she flows silently, sandwiched between two rocky ranges, like a newly wedded, shy and slender girl escorted by her in laws .
Gazing at the scenic beauty of the western ghats, the falling leaves from the huge tree on the bank and the chirping birds on it, I sit for a while on the granite steps descending from the backyard of the temple .
The time clock gets pushed back by several years.
While performing the avaniavittam ritual seated on these steps amidst hundreds of Brahmins, I repeat verbatim, the sonorous sounds of vaadhyar Chuppamani, who stands like a statue ahead, bright white threads and vibhooti marks crisscrossing his ebony -black frame. For a while, surreptitiously, I glance at the bathing beauties nearby and get caught by his watchful eyes. Unwilling to interrupt the flow of mantras which is inevitable if he scolds, he stares at me and produces a ‘mmm’ sound. I repeat that sound too under the impression that it was also a part of the mantra stream. Vaadhyar breaks into laughter unmindful of disruption to the recitation.
It is this river and its scenic surroundings that gave wings to my short-lived poetic fantasy. It is the waters of this river which carried the ashes of my mother which I emptied from an earthen urn reverently and it is the big banyan tree here around which many of childhood fears and fantasies hang . Did I say an earthen urn ? Yes, I did. How cruel I am ! A mother’s love, hope, aspiration, pain, smile, laughter, woe, worry, affectionate hug, kiss, scold, scream everything, everything pushed into an empty earthen pot and I emptied that pot pouring into the flowing waters ! And those waters which embraced her many mornings and evenings in her childhood, accepted the ashes without a murmur and carried them away as if carrying a handful of dry flowers and tulasi leaves thrown from the corridor of the temple above !
I have a close relationship with this river, as close as to that of a childhood girl- friend. Much later, even while acquainting with more attractive and sophisticated damsels like Thames and Seine , this innocent village girl with sparkling smile, used to peep from a corner of the mind.
My mind transforms into a melody at the presence of my childhood and juvenile companion. In kasi, philosophy and mythology takes over its control. The vast expanse of the Ganges in the front, the burning ghat at my back, the scintillating ‘harati’ at dusk -and many more such scenes and incidents evoke an illusion that I am in a supernatural sphere moving to the land of unknown. With kalpathy, it is a down to earth feeling. The homely temple and friendly river, the sweet girls in pavada and elderly women in six or nine yards saris, the bare- chested brahmins holding a packet of darbai or an umbrella, the children going to school carrying their books, the small tea, fruit, flower and provision stores, a lonely bull freely moving about, the overflowing music from the ‘koodams’, living rooms of the roof to roof houses – all these are homely .
The sonorous chendamelam wakes me up from my reverie and I proceed towards the temple. The recent renovation, without hampering the originality has given a face lift to the temple which looks cleaner and spacious. The deity, the same old Viswanathar, appear as simple as he was during my childhood, though his divine consort Visalakshy Amman looks much younger. I felt as if I was standing before my parents when I go home for vacation, my father seated on the thinnai of our Olavakkode house with white vibhooti lines prominently displayed on his broad chest, long hands and other parts of the body and mother humbly beside him with a tumbler of coffee in her hand.
My meeting the divine family was purely a family reunion. It was more affection and respect rather than bakthi or devotion that ruled my mind during our meeting. In fact it is so in most of the Kerala temples. You are at home with an elder to whom you can open up your heart and ask for a help.
In fact, the Kalpathy car festival itself is a family affair, the grand divine family coming out to meet the families of the mortals. You should see the enthusiasm of the crowd waiting on the street outside the temple, when the idols of the Viswanathaswamy, Visalakshi Amman, Ganpathy and Subramania swamy appear on the surface, carried up by the devotees through the flight from the ‘kuntambalam’ . The head of the family along with his consort mounts a chariot, as it should be and then, the juniors on their respective ones.
It is a pleasure to watch the divine procession in half a dozen colorful chariots,beautifully decorated with flowers, flags, sugarcane, coconuts and plantain bunches, ceremoniously drawn through the streets by thousands of devotees, accompanied by caparisoned elephants and percussion. While the learned Brahmins chant Vedic hymns rhythmically, the devotees irrespective of caste or creed close their eyes in silent prayers and pull reverently the thick coir ropes , an act which is believed to remove the accumulated sins.. The pachyderms, by moving their trunk, tail and ears enthusiastically exhibit their exhilaration at the roaring but synchronized chenda melam.
The broad roads which would have allowed easy movement of two bullock carts from opposite direction in the olden days now facilitates the ceremonial rolling of colorfully decorated chariots surrounded by enthusiastic crowd . Two rows of identical houses on both sides with slopping tiled roofs and a pair of shining small ‘thinnais’ or sit outs at the entrance on both sides of the steps, relaid and polished recently by the state Government under the Parental Heritage scheme, provide a distinct architectural alignment.
This is a fantastic scene -the assembly of six charismatic chariots, after visiting the villages, followed by elephants, surrounded by enthusiastic crowd when the setting sun envelopes the sky with a vast crimson coverage or shamiana. All the deities including the Lakshmynarayana perumal with his consort and the Mahaganapthies from Chathappuram and New kalpathy are together with the Viswanathar family now. After other formalities, they take leave of the grand sire and withdraw to their own places, to return next year.
June, 2018
Dec 29 2008
comments ;
Dear Sir,
I am born and brought up in Mumbai and my wife is from Trivandrum. All along I have been working abroad but
on every opportunity I have visited Kerala.
Just today I went through ur article on Kalpathy car festival and while reading the mail I was just carried away all the way
to Kalpathy from Philippine where I am at present. My father hails from N Parur and mother from Alleppey.
I am of the opinion that only the blessed children of GOD are born in Kerala in a Brahmin Family.
My last wish is to have a room in any BRAHMIN AGRAHARAM in PALAGHAT ,go to the temple at 4am, go into deep meditation in the temple,have Idli for the breakfast with Kattan Kappi everyday, read HINDU, have a afternoon nap, some pakodam or omapodi or muthusaram with tea in the evenings, again have a darshan of the Almighty in the temple, have Kanji and then retire for the day by 9pm.
No doubt its a dream to be fulfilled
and some more last wishes
ANAYASANE MARANAM
EKADESHI MARANAM AND DWADESHI DHANAM
Sir please keep writing and I enjoy it very much .
Blessed are ur children ,grandchildren,SIL and DIL
who are fortunate to be with you all the time listening to your experiences, teachings,,reading ur writings and last but not the least have the opportunity to SERVE YOU WITH ALL THE DEVOTION.
MY NAMASKARAMS TO YOU MAMA.
regards
A5 Ramani
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A fine write-up sir. I was immediately transported to Kalpathy by reading this. Thank you
With warm regards,
Pradeep