CHAPTER 8: TEMPLE WORSHIP§
Encountering God’s Divine Power§
Arjun, seventeen, squirmed uncomfortably in the seat, his muscles cramped and stiff. Air India’s packed plane was obviously built for short Indians, not his 6’ 2” Canadian-raised body. At least he had an exit row seat, two rows forward of his with his parents. When he removed his iPhone ear buds, the sound of a child crying assailed his ears, amplifying his ambivalence about this trip to Chennai. He didn’t like leaving his friends in Toronto. And he didn’t know what to expect in India, this being his first visit. He did look forward to seeing cousins he frequently Skyped, and Dad planned to take him to some famous South Indian temples. That was all good. But there were all the things he had heard about India—the crowded streets, the oppressive heat, the in-your-face poverty, the cows....§
In Toronto, he attended temples regularly with his family, but he didn’t think much of them. Several were set up in warehouse spaces; only a few were built from the ground up in traditional ways. One was next to a tire shop! §
This journey was more a duty than a vacation. To Dad, it was a pilgrimage, and he had talked about it with Guruji, who recommended a visit to Palani Hills and Chidambaram. Dad hoped the journey would awaken some devotion in his son. §
Arjun wondered why his parents were so archaic in their thinking. It seemed in all circumstances they would think of God and temples. If he was going for an exam, Mom would say, “Arjun, go to the puja room and pray before you leave.” When his father bought him a bike, he had to do puja for it! What next? None of his Christian or Muslim friends did anything like this. §
There was a constant push from Mom and Dad about going to the temple. He realized it was one of the few “Hindu” things they could do for him in Toronto, and he appreciated their wanting to pass on the religion. After all, he was a Hindu. Not that he was against going, but often the time conflicted with outings with friends or with school programs. §
“On pilgrimage?” the elderly man next to him asked abruptly. §
Startled out of his musing, Arjun replied, “Why yes, actually, we are.”§
“I once went to Amarnath Cave, high in the mountains of Kashmir. It was difficult, cold and dangerous. But I tell you, darshan of the ice Sivalingam was the experience of my life. I can remember every minute of it even now, thirty years later. Nothing like a pilgrimage!”§
“What is darshan? I’ve heard the term before.”§
“It’s a wonderful concept! In the simplest sense it means seeing, you seeing the Deity. But it also means the Deity seeing you. That’s why we go to these temples, to see and be seen, but not by other devotees—by God Himself!”§
The wizened man smiled and grew quiet. A few minutes later he was asleep again. As is the culture of India, this total stranger had treated Arjun as his own son, freely offering advice and explanations.§
Arjun gazed at the elder, thankful for his meaningful story. He was always amazed at the ability of Indians to sleep on any form of transportation—a genetic trait he seemed to have missed out on. §
Indeed, Arjun realized, “I am on pilgrimage.” A few months ago, out of the blue, Dad declared, “We’re going to India during your December break, away from Canada’s cold. December in Tamil Nadu will be pleasant, after the monsoon rains stop.” §
“Dad, if it’s just for the weather, there are a hundred places in the US we could go.” §
Dad laughed. “Humor your old man for a change. I need some spiritual recharging; that’s why we’re going to Palani and Chidambaram. Plus, Guruji thinks it will do you a lot of good at this particular point in life.” §
Arjun understood this meant a lot to Dad, but he couldn’t see how it would benefit him, even if Guruji had suggested it. But as his father had said, he would be leaving for college soon, and this could be the right time, perhaps the last chance, to go as a family.§
Rough turbulence jolted him back to the present, and to the dismal airline food platter that had just arrived on his tray. “You would think an Indian airline could serve a better vegetarian meal,” he thought. Still, mediocre food was better than none. He was not one to skip a meal. §
After clearing customs and immigration in Chennai, they flew on to Madurai. The city’s airport was small—no jetways. Thankfully, the tiny arrival lounge was air-conditioned. Dad bargained with a taxi driver for a decent fare to their hotel. As Arjun slid onto the cramped front seat, he thought, “This is where the airlines get their seat dimensions!” His knees hit the dashboard every time the driver applied the brakes, which was about once a minute, as cows, dogs or humans casually crossed in front of the car.§
In contrast to Arjun’s agony, Dad and Mom looked relaxed and happy, bouncing along in the back seat. For them, this was home, and they paid no mind to the chaos that disturbed Arjun. Daily life in Canada seemed so much smoother to him. Still, he took note that everyone on the street was a Hindu, and Hinduism pervaded the culture, from the Ganesha on the taxi driver’s dashboard to the standing oil lamps in the hotel lobby. The hotel was clean and their room had a scenic view of the Madurai Temple towers. After a good night’s sleep, wakened by the sound of temple bells, they started off at 6am for Palani, 115 km away. §
Arjun’s complaints faded away. The drive was beyond picturesque; it was absolutely charming. At one stop he got out and walked over to a friendly cow. He had encountered cows in Canada at a dairy farm his class visited. They were tame, but nothing like this cow, standing nonchalantly outside a shop, untethered, totally at home and unafraid of people. She acted more like a pet than a herd animal. Feeling safe, Arjun petted her just as she snatched a small melon from a merchant. Her deed resulted in a lot of shouting, but, Dad explained, no one would strike a cow even for blatant theft, least they themselves be thrashed by assembled passersby. “They take this holy cow business seriously, don’t they?” Arjun quipped.§
“Indeed they do,” Dad chuckled.§
The terrain grew hillier as they traveled north. The flat plain was dotted with huge rocky hills and solid granite outcroppings. Arjun observed the growing number of people, obviously pilgrims, walking alongside the road, many of them barefoot. §
“Who are the men pilgrims in black?” Arjun asked his mother. §
“Those are Ayyappan worshipers. They will eventually reach Sabarimala, a remote temple in Kerala, to worship the God Ayyappan, who is considered a brother of Murugan. As part of their vows, they will visit other temples along the way.”§
“Just as we are doing!”§
“Yes, except that many are fasting; well, actually they are eating only one meal a day, after sunset, sleeping outdoors and spending their entire time in worship. Not only that, they are only walking, not driving.”§
Sleeping outside seemed easy enough, given the weather, but one meal a day? Arjun’s stomach growled if he was twenty minutes late for dinner!§
Just then Palani Hill came into sight, the temple perched on top. As they neared, he saw the long flight of steps snaking up the side. Around the bottom were other temples and village buildings. Arjun was wonder struck.§
“This is a temple town,” said Dad. “The primary industry here is the temple.”§
“According to the Puranas,” his mother began, “Lord Siva and Goddess Parvati once offered a magical mango to whichever of Their sons, Ganesha or Murugan, could go around the world first. Murugan jumped on His peacock and took off immediately, convinced He could easily beat His portly brother. But when He arrived back at Mount Kailash, Ganesha was already peeling the mango. Rather than race after his brother, Ganesha had given the matter some thought, walked around His divine parents and announced, ‘As the entire universe is contained within You, I have now circled the Earth.’ They had to agree with his mystical logic and gave Him the mango. Murugan was fuming, outraged. ‘But you are the fruit of wisdom and knowledge,’ His Mother consoled him—‘you are the fruit,’ in Tamil, is Palani. That did little to pacify Murugan. He renounced His possessions and flew off to this place, which came to be known as Palani Hill. Murugan is enshrined here as a renunciate monk, named Palaniandavar, wearing only a loincloth and holding a walking stick.”§
Arjun had heard the story before, but this time it went deeper, as though he were seeing it happen, with Murugan on His peacock alighting on the hill now rising before him.§
His father interrupted his reverie. “Let’s get checked into the hotel so we can make it to the top for the 8pm puja. If we hurry, we may be able to see the chariot procession at 7:00.” §
They would easily get there on time by taking the cable tram, but that was rather against the spirit of pilgrimage. Here, climbing the 683 steps to the top was as much part of the worship as the arati. The tram was necessary for the aged and infirm, but Arjun was neither; he was athletic and looked forward to the climb. He would have liked to run up the steps, but instead helped Mom make her way more slowly. §
Just as they reached the final step, they looked to the right and there was the chariot leaving its shed with the parade Deity inside. “Auspicious timing,” remarked Dad. Arjun had seen what passed for a chariot back in Toronto at the bigger temples, but this was something else. Brilliant polished gold, exquisitely carved and decorated, a vehicle belonging not to this Earth but to the Sivaloka, the heaven world. He was invited to help pull the chariot around the temple, a task that almost put him in a trance. Fortunately, it was not a festival day, when 100,000 people might be crowding the temple; tonight there were just a few thousand. Thus, there was no great push to move on when the family finally came before the main Deity inside the temple. Arjun wanted to linger and take in the sight of Murugan dressed as an ascetic—the theme for that particular puja. “Perhaps,” he thought, “I might renounce the world one day, if even a God would do so.”§
After the arati, they proceeded to the shrine of Bhogar Rishi, who lived thousands of years ago and is said to still sit in samadhi deep in a cave within the hill. Arjun didn’t know what to make of that story, but the spiritual vibration inside the dark chamber was so powerful he sat motionless there for an hour.§
“Arjun,” Father whispered, “they’re closing the temple; we have to go back down.”§
“Oh, I didn’t realize what time it was. This place is so powerful and interesting and amazing all at once. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.” §
“That’s the shakti, the divine power. If you think this is strong, wait until we get to Chidambaram.”§
Arjun looked at his father seriously, then glanced back toward the sanctum. “I can’t imagine anything stronger than this, Dad. I might disappear there.” §
“I hope you don’t, but you wouldn’t be the first. Saint Manikkavasagar is said to have disappeared into the Siva Nataraja Deity in Chidambaram in the ninth century.”§
“OK, I promise not to disappear, at least not on this trip!”§
The next morning, Arjun insisted the family return up the hill for the morning worship. Exiting the main sanctum area, they turned to see the rising sun glistening on the gold tower. Arjun blushed when Mom exclaimed, “Our temple-shy Canadian teenager is turning into quite the ardent Hindu, isn’t he?” §
Returning to Madurai, they paid a brief visit to the Meenakshi Temple, then headed toward the coast, visiting other temples along the way. Arjun was anxious to visit the huge Brihadeeswarar Siva temple at Thanjavur, built in the eleventh century by Rajaraja Chola I. He found it quite different from Palani Hills.§
“It’s maintained by the government now and, no, it doesn’t have the same power as Palani,” Dad confirmed. “There is possibly a deeper reason, also, that Guruji once explained to me. Temples are either started by the Gods or started by men. Those with divine origins are far superior. Palani Temple was established by Lord Murugan Himself. This temple was built more as a monument to the king’s successes. True, he was expressing deep gratitude to Siva, but his motives might have included a bit of ego. This is, after all, one of the largest temples of its kind ever built. The capstone you see way up there weighs in at eighty-six tons. They say it was hauled to its resting place 216 feet above the ground by elephants on a sand ramp starting five miles away.”§
“Really? Not!”§
“Scoff if you like, but a few years ago some archeologists tried out a sand ramp with some elephants and demonstrated it is possible to move such huge stones that way.”§
Arjun enjoyed the temple and its immense, fifteen-foot-tall Sivalingam, but felt little of the shakti power he had experienced at Palani Hills. “This really is mostly a museum,” he thought, “complete with foreign tourists who came to see the architecture, not to worship.”§
The drive from Thanvajur to Chidambaram was pleasant enough, bumpy roads alternating with modern highways. They arrived in late afternoon at what Dad called the best hotel in town. It was a modest affair, with a tiny elevator that could hold three people and a suitcase. Arjun took the stairs. §
After a quick shower, the family headed for the temple, just a short walk down the narrow lane that the locals called a street. The entry road was crowded with flower vendors and other shops, all catering to the devotees. They walked through the grand rajagopuram, admiring the carvings of the 108 dance poses of Nataraja on each side, past the thousand-pillared hall, past the decorated temple elephant, who stood all day blessing pilgrims, and into the main structure. Suddenly the temple’s six-foot-tall bells rang; Arjun felt the sound reverberate in his bones. He didn’t know a bell could do that.§
The ancient stone courtyard was small, the sanctum a free-standing building of polished granite pillars and a roof of 21,600 solid gold tiles—one for each breath a person takes during a day, the priest told him. Moments later, they were led up the small steps to the left of the sanctum and brought right in front of the Siva Nataraja Deity. Arjun was overwhelmed by the same shakti he had encountered at Palani meditating at Bhogar Rishi’s cave shrine. He closed his eyes and went within himself, feeling entirely at peace, immersed in the presence of God. The priest bade him look through a stone lattice into a small chamber next to the Deity. “Can you see it?” the priest asked. §
Arjun looked but saw nothing. §
“What do you see?” the priest prodded. §
“Nothing, I don’t see a thing. It’s empty,” Arjun reported with a bit of embarrassment that he was missing something important. §
“That’s it. Exactly, the priest smiled. This is where Siva is worshiped as akasha, the invisible foundation of reality inside everything we see.” §
Arjun took a moment to realize what was being said and why people would peer into an empty chamber bordered by a garland of fifty-one gold bilva leaves. He realized this was a deep thought and, in fact, it continued to entertain his philosophical mind for the next few hours.§
Arousing Arjun from his meditation, Father said, “Tomorrow we’ll attend the ruby Nataraja puja. That’s something you will never forget.”§
Soon they were back at the hotel enjoying a vegetarian dinner that seemed to have every favorite thing he had ever eaten, and a few new ones. He had newfound appreciation for the humble hostel. §
The next morning they arrived early and sat quietly in an open courtyard with dozens of devotees, all waiting for the puja. A flurry of activity in the raised central sanctum alerted them that something was about to happen. The priests took their place near the edge of the platform and the devotees assembled in the courtyard about five feet below. Arjun found a spot near the front, but off to the side so he didn’t block anyone’s view, conscious of the fact he was a full foot taller than many of those around him.§
He felt a cool rush of wind and energy as the six-inch-tall ruby Nataraja was taken from its silver box. For the third time, he felt the shakti power envelop him, erasing every concern in his mind, every doubt about the past, every worry about the future. He was totally in the present. §
Then a worshipful hand gesture, a mudra, done by the priest struck him in the way a distinctive odor touches off a memory of a distant event. It was as if he were experiencing this same puja, but in a different body. But how could that be? This was his first time here. It had to be from a past that was older than this lifetime, in a previous birth, perhaps hundreds of years ago. The experience lingered, his perception alternating between being a young man in the 21st century and an older person of another time. The sensation ended as the priest passed the arati lamp first in front and then behind the semi-transparent ruby Nataraja. As the huge bells rang again, Arjun felt the boundaries of his mind expand. It was hard for him to grasp what was happening, it was so new to him. As his mind struggled for understanding, the thought came, “I am somehow aware of the entire universe.” §
His father’s gentle voice broke the spell, “Arjun, we have to go now.” §
Opening his eyes, the boy whispered, “I feel so at peace here. Let’s stay a little longer,” his eyes filling with tears.§
“Then let’s sit over here and meditate for a while. But we do have to be on the road to Chennai. Our flight from there leaves just after midnight.”§
Slowly Arjun returned to normal consciousness, but as soon as he thought of the puja, or the Bhogar Rishi shrine, he again felt the intense shakti force. He relished this blissful state while hurtling at 100km per hour along the wide coast highway to Mahabalipuram and Chennai, oblivious to the slow-moving lorries, the speeding, honking cars, the occasional goat wandering on the shoulder—oblivious to the world around him. He had touched into another world and was not eager to let it go.§
Back in Toronto the next Saturday, Dad didn’t have to ask if he wanted to go to the temple; he had already said he would go. It was the one next to the tire shop—not his favorite temple. But as soon as he walked in and saw Nataraja, something clicked inside him. The same shakti he felt in India returned full force.§
“Now I see why you come,” he told his father. “Once that door is open to the Divine, any temple serves as the entrance.”§
Outside, Arjun encountered Donny, the shop owner.§
“How do you like living next to a Hindu temple?” Arjun inquired.§
“Didn’t know what to think of it at first, I have to tell you,” replied the man in a thick Newfoundland accent. “What do you do in there, anyway? When that bell starts ringing so loudly, I can feel something come right through the walls, something spiritual. I don’t know what to call it, but I never felt that at church, and I consider myself a good Christian.”§
Arjun smiled, “Shakti, the power of God, that’s what we call it.”§