Editorial Reflections Travel Music & Art Carnatic Music Short Story Health & Fitness Humour Punjab Round-Up Family Violence Book Reviews Poetry Prev Issue Next Issue

<-- Seen here is the intricately sculptured Raja Raja Gate-the third gate one passes under before entering the temple's grand courtyard. Temple visitors have ample space to explore their personal devotion to God or just to relax on temple grounds.. (Click on the image to enlarge it)

In the plains of Tamil Nadu is the unassuming city of Tanjore. It is a place with a rich history, which is partly why today it is a pleasure to explore. One of the most famous sights is Cholan king Rajaraja's Brihadishwara Temple, which he built in 1010. As I was waited for a friend to arrive, I had the opportunity simply to sit at the entrance of the temple complex and watch happenings around me and was able to see a few things I surely would have missed had I just walked under the archway on my way inside.

There were the usual salesmen, half interested in selling their goods. One sat under the shade of an outcrop of stone with rubber stamps that he could use to turn a woman's palms into an intricate maze of designs. This kind of "quick" mehandi design work is more blocky and stylized rather than the ornate flourishes of traditional mehandi one sees on a bride on her wedding day. The vendor tried to lure women leaving the temple, knowing that they may be loathe to returning to their work, and perhaps would not mind spending a few extra minutes watching their hands turn into patterned surfaces. I could see that despite their hesitant reactions, they couldn't help but at least take a look at the peacock and heart shapes.

Another vendor walked around blowing a toy similar to a party horn. He would blow on it for a few seconds, and approach passers-by with inviting offers to try it out themselves. He then would lean on the wall behind him, chatting with the bored woman who sat on the ground selling flowers as offerings for the temple gods within. She interrupted him when two women approached her with a two-rupee coin wanting a part of her garland. She refused the money, saying that it would be three rupees, and that no, she could not just give the women less flowers. Though the women did not want to pay the extra rupee, they certainly did not want to enter the temple empty-handed, so they had to grudgingly place another rupee in her hand. She cut off a small section of the long garland of yellow flowers she had coiled at her feet and carefully handed it over to the woman in the blue sari.

The elephant at the temple's entrance exchanges a blessing for a few bananas. -- > (Click on the image to enlarge it)

Beyond the barreled vault of the entrance was a rectangular opening, which led to another vaulted entryway. My attention was held here because of the baby elephant. With stars painted on its ears and dots along its trunk, she looked even more like a baby even though she filled a considerable amount of space and if you sat on her, you certainly wouldn't want to fall from that high off the ground. She also had some chain wrapped around one of her feet, but she herself was not bound to anything at that moment. A man wearing a white cotton shirt and the ubiquitous dhoti of south India sat by her with a stick with which he used to prod her every now and then. Though she was being used purely for his own purposes, like all children she was trying to have a little fun. She swayed from side to side as if she were dancing to music only she could hear.

After watching her for some time, I soon learned that she had another skill. A man approached her with some peanuts, which with the aid of her trunk, she placed into her mouth. She removed her trunk from her mouth and then used it to lightly bonk the man on his head. He made a namaste gesture, accepting her blessing and went on his way. This happened several times: sometimes the elephant received peanuts, sometimes bananas. Regardless, she would eat her treat quickly and generously bless the donor with a light thumb on his or head. Though each person who approached her was fully aware of what she or he was doing, each of them nevertheless were a bit surprised that an elephant just hit their head. They would wince a bit, and after accepting the blessing, they quickly moved away from the baby elephant with an invigorated smile on their lips.

While standing in the same archway, I noticed a man on a motorbike with his young son of four or five years cruise in. They slowly entered the archway and then parked the bike on the side away from the elephant. The father picked up his son, for whom at that moment only the elephant and father existed in the world. A few peanuts went into the baby elephant's mouth and she bonked the father on the head, and then son. They both went away laughing, mounted the motorcycle and left the temple-they had come specifically for this enjoyable blessing and had no intention of going in any further. I myself had the feeling that I had just passed the most enjoyable time I would have that day and had yet to enter the main temple area. However, soon after my friend came and I loaded my new film before we began our exploration within.

A cat roamed around the temple complex, climbing ledges that have been in existence for hundreds of years. When it got to a solemn looking Parvati swathed in a river of red fabric, it gave her a contemptuous look at having been forced to tread on the ground below, rather than on the actual temple façade. While this was happening, a flock of pigeons swarmed the colorful thirteen-story gopuram high above us. Watching from the ground, they were rendered as small black figures flowing together in patterns jumping from in between the niches created under a god's leg, between intertwined arms of some demons, behind a blue trident, or a snake's sinewy body. From our position, they were putting on a dance in the sky so that the gods of the gopuram could see a performance at eye-level for once instead of having to look down at their followers below.

<-- Brihadishwara's many shrines shelter hundreds of Shiv lingas for adoration. (Click on the image to enlarge it)

A columned walkway bordered the whole temple complex. It provided us not only with shade, but the repetitive row of pillars growing smaller in the distance also gave one a peaceful, meditative feel while walking. On the other side of this walkway were tens of lingams. Many were decorated with fresh bright flowers, yellow tikkas, and red and white markings as well. Soon we came to a small room where young boys and men made the coin-sized diyas that are sold all over the temple. One boy sat on the ground in front of a thali with about a hundred of these tiny diyas, which he had placed in a wide spiraling shape. He quietly filled these diyas with a coconut oil paste as well as a cotton wick so that devotees' personal devotion would be manifest via a tiny flame flickering in front of a lingum. Further on was a shrine almost hidden in a corner: five smooth ebony Shiva lingams of different heights were lined up, each with a giant white lily placed lovingly atop it and one diya lighting the otherwise shadowy room. Next to this one, however, was a shrine just as lovely. Here, someone had applied haldi, or a bright yellow tumeric paste, to the five identical female goddesses standing in a line. One vibrant green leaf was in front of each, with a circle of vermilion applied to it. Many small diyas illuminated the area. The goddesses had company though-three women helped each other tie long yellow threads horizontally across the statues, as if binding them together. Though the goddesses were made of black stone, the bright yellow of the paste, combined with the firelight gave the yellow threads a new meaning. All this I captured with my camera: the architecture, spirit of the temple, and motions of devotees; in my overactive imagination, every picture would speak volumes.

When I developed my roll of film, I was in a remote hill station a hundred kilometers away, but it seemed two thousand miles to the north. A cold mist rendered the green hills and valley below almost invisible because of the haze, and we hiked over wet rocky unpaved paths wrapped in shawls and with umbrellas. The searing sun and constant blare of bus pressure horns were left behind in the cities in the plains below, but I looked forward to seeing the pictures I had left for developing an hour ago so that I could remember the temples, people, and city scenes I had found so appealing and had captured on film.

When I went to pick up my pictures, the shop owner presented me with a very low bill. Most of the film had been exposed; my temple negatives were jet black. The few pictures that were developed were ones I had taken on the hike earlier that day and they looked drowned in a pinkish hue. I paid my bill with disappointment and my countenance alone was more dramatic than the horrible weather that surrounded me. Now the only pictures I had of the Brihadishwara temple were the three shots I had taken before loading the ruined roll of film. I remembered while walking back in the rain that while walking around the sunny grounds in Tanjore that day, I had laughingly joked that my flash would anger the sleepy-looking gods that surrounded me. At the time, I hadn't realized how true my statement may have been.

Credits

View and Post comment on this article