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| With Maggie at Badrinath |
Hindu temples used to fascinate me. There is a unique aura of mystery
exuded by their very architecture. When I was a little boy I wished to enter
the temple premises in my village. But the bold writing on the wall of that
temple, “Non-Hindus are not allowed to enter,” kept me out. That writing
vanished some time after I actually entered that temple. The curiosity of a
little boy was what drew me in one day while I passed by that temple, as I
always did, while going for my evening bath in the nearby river. I stood in
that dark chamber for hardly a minute when someone whispered in my ear to get
out before I would stir up a communal riot in the village.
I visited scores of Hindu temples later in various parts of the country
including Badrinath in the Garhwal Himalayas, Kamakhya in Guwahati and Gaumukh
in Mount Abu. All those temples fascinated me for reasons which I never tried
to analyse. It was a kind of instinctual fascination, I think. It was a similar
instinct that made me visit Sabarimala long ago in 1990 or so.
I was sharing a drink with my friend Prasad Nair. “Have you gone to
Sabarimala?” I asked him. “Of course,” he said. He had gone as a pilgrim. I
told him that I wished to visit Sabarimala as a tourist. “Why not? I’ll take
you.” Prasad said.
As simple as that. Neither Prasad nor I was a pilgrim. We got into a bus
from Prasad’s hometown, a bus which carried only Sabarimala pilgrims who were
invariably called swamis. I had followed Prasad’s advice to wear a dhoti that
resembled the swami attire. But neither of us had the irumudikettu which is an inevitable accoutrement of the Sabarimala
pilgrim. No one bothered about our lack of irumudikettu
as Prasad and I began our ascent from Pamba bus stand to the holy temple.
By the time we reached the temple we looked totally brown with all the
dust we gathered along the way like any other traveller. We waited in the
kilometre-long queue for ascending the 18 sacred steps. A policeman noticed the
absence of irumudikettu on our heads
and approached us. “Are you pilgrims?” He asked. “No,” we said. “We are just
visitors.”
The policeman told us that we could not ascend the 18 steps since we
were only visitors. He showed us another way to reach the Sanctum Sanctorum of
the temple and we followed the instructions. I stood before the idol of Ayappan
with folded arms breathing in the fervour of the pilgrims through every pore in
my skin. “Swamiye Saranam Ayappa!” I too murmured involuntarily.
Nobody was bothered by the fact that Prasad and I had no irumudikettu. That we were mere
visitors. On the contrary, we were addressed as swamis. Everyone who visited
the temple was a swami. The spirit of fraternity was all too palpable. I loved
it. Sabarimala remained in my heart as a place that exuded an extraordinary sense
of fraternity.
Sadly today it has become a place that radiates animosity. I feel sad.
Why have we become like this? I wonder. Why is India such a hate-filled country
now?
I won’t ever visit Sabarimala anymore. I know that. That awareness makes
me sad.
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| At Thirunelli Temple in Kerala [1990s] |
It is so sad that these salient points of that great temple have been lost. Each person's faith and the way he or she practises it is personal. No one can impose them on others.
ReplyDeleteAll changes are difficult. I just hope gradually reason will prevail and peace will return.
I share your hope. The present situation in Sabarimala is politically motivated. So there's hope. Political motives have short life.
DeleteWell written. But today what we see in Sabarimala a larger politics played and every interested party wants to make the maximum out of it. It is the genuine believers who have been caught in the middle.nicely written.
DeleteGenuine believers don't indulge in hatred and violence. Politicians vitiated the entire Sabarimala issue and the very atmosphere of the place.
Delete