Three Temples

Walking through the west gopuram of Nataraja Temple

On the last day of January, I woke up in Pondicherry on Tamil Nadu coast. A former French colony, home of the famous Sri Aurobindo ashram and solid tourist stop, it's a good place to have a coffee. After one last cup at Le Cafe on the waterfront, I headed for the bus station. The rickshaw driver asked the most common question: Which country, sir? But after I told him, he started going on and on about his favorite sport: professional wrestling. Not much of a WWF fan myself (or at least since I was 10), my attention wandered and the recitation of ridiculous names was drowned out by 200 honking horns. The bus ride to Chidambaram cut deeper into a vast rice-growing area in southeast Tamil Nadu. Although a few muddy plots stood ready for planting, the harvest was underway. In hundreds of dried-off paddies the crop stood ripe and golden, while in others the rice was being harvested. Machines were at work in some fields while in others, sickles were swinging and stalks threshed against large mats. Lines of people snaked along the channels bearing bunches of straw on their heads. Goats and cows roamed over the stubble. In the shade of a coconut palm, a man tossed grains up and down with a wicker tray, letting the breeze blow the chaff away. Tractors clogged the road pulling wagons filled with bulging sacks.

A long time ago, way back, this part of southern India was the center of the Chola dynasty. The kings built some of the most impressive Hindu temples in all of India, and it was my idea to string a few of these together in a kind of temple hop. The town of Chidambaram was the first stop, home the Nataraja Temple. I was lucky to get a room at the Pari Lodge, in a relatively clean alley and footsteps away from the temple's south gate. Above the gates are stepped towers called gopurams, and as I stood in the lane drinking chai I stared skyward at the astonishing number of colors, designs, and figures. I stopped counting at 40 different statues and estimated there to be over 300 on the whole thing.

Leaving my sandals in my room, I walked down the alley and through the gate, flanked by twin statues of Nandi, the sacred bull and vehicle of Shiva. Hinduism is kind of a long story, but the three main gods are Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Most temples are dedicated to the latter two, with the Nataraja Temple no exception. Nataraja is the Lord of the Dance, and one of Shiva's many incarnations.Inside the temple walls the street noise faded away, replaced by the sound of birds and the chanting of puja, prayer. Nataraja is a very open temple, most of the grounds paved with stone, a few overgrown gardens lining the walls and different shrines here and there. The main temple is enclosed in the center of the courtyard. It was powerfully atmospheric, sitting some stone steps at dusk, watching people come and go, looking at the statues, and watching a troop of monkeys clamber up and down the east gopuram.

A man with a small, dark face and a cream-colored shirt sat down next to me, and after a few seconds leaned over. What is your. . . good name sir? The words built up inside him, then whistled out like steam escaping a tea kettle. Enolai and I spoke for a few minutes, and he had the charming habit of squinting his eyes shut as he tried to remember his English, then opening them very wide and shooting his head forward like an owl going whoo! He was from a village nearby, he said, and worked as a mechanic in town. Every evening he stopped by the temple on his way home. He mentioned a dance competition, then shut eyes and seemed to hum to himself. Suddenly, he had it. On May first! While Enolai spoke, I looked over his shoulder at a cow slowly consuming an entire newspaper from a small trash heap.

Enolai borrowed a pen from a large man nearby, wearing a yellow plaid shirt and missing a front tooth. He came over for his pen and started to chat. Your country, sir? Ah, and do you like Obama? A Malaysian Hindu, he was in Tamil Nadu to visit the ancient temples. And how do you feel? He had a friendly smile and I told him that India was amazing, and a little overwhelming. As a native South Asian, he put things clearly in perspective: Forget the negative! I'm not here to see the negative things. . . He paused and gestured at the thousand-year-old stones. This is magnificent! A useful mantra for the traveler in India. I took it to mean that one can't ignore the suffering and poverty, but can choose where to focus one's attention.

Shortly thereafter a group of priests, preceded by a horn and a drum, bore a large statue of Shiva astride Nandi around the courtyard. Chanting filled the cool air. A monkey ran across the temple roof, silhouetted in the twilight. Small lamps flickered at the shrines as the stars came out. A man bowed and placed prasad at the the feet of a deity carved in stone. To be there, in that place, was to feel something ancient, a continuity of power. At these times I feel the bounds of my atheism stretched, but I settled for a simple feeling of peace and walked back through the gate, bats swooping in the lamplight.

The 180 foot tower of Brihadisvara Temple, Thanjavur
A Nandi shrine inside Meenakshi Temple


Ganesh, Meenakshi