Home
Hostelling
India

The Pilgrim Train

                   

This was my first colorful gopuram, so while it is probably clear to you upon first blush that the temple is dedicated to Ganesha, it threw me off to just to see this massive colorful cone with all of this stuff on top of the temple. Plus it was a very small temple which looked only moderately active. I’d been waking to incredibly loud and vibrant morning aartis all week fifteen kilometers away, and it just felt unlikely that this quiet and modest temple could have been the source. But everything is foreign to me and I have become inclined to shrug my shoulders and accept that. In short,  I didn’t really sort it out before I entered. (I’ve removed some of the wire crisscrossing it to make it a touch cleaner visually for you.) My confusion was still in full throttle when I saw Ganesha sitting there, upfront and center with the pujari hovering about adjusting flowers and pouring panchamrit. Ganesha just sat there looking all fat and happy and receptive. Honestly, he’s always a welcome sight. Who doesn’t have obstacles to remove at any given moment? So I accepted the kind pujari’s generous offering of the panchamrit of milk, curd, honey, ghee and sugar, the leftover milk used to bathe Ganesha during the morning aghishekam. I mean, it was still charged with spiritual energy! I was grateful to apply it to my third eye, throat and heart chakras, with a bit left even for my crown. As I circled behind Ganesha, I found Shivalinga in a small dark corner, and that still wasn’t quite enough for the Sri Viswanatha Swamy Temple of the chariot race festival, and the crazy loud kombu and Santa and possibly nadaswaram horns and all of that vibrant chanting and singing that burst in upon my dreaming each morning. Was Shiva was lingering in the shadows of the temples in yet another form that I didn’t recognize but that was clear to his lifelong devotees? I thought I saw everything there, but then again, maybe I didn’t. Still, after surveying the extremely high scaffolding outside that was leftover from the festival and probably had copious amounts of beautiful and fragrant flowers laced through them, I hopped happily back into the rickshaw. The pujari smiled warmly at me and I like being blessed.



My driver went just a small stretch down the village road and stopped in front of another temple. Ah, this was it! I was still a bit surprised with its small size, but it had a super tall gold flagstaff reaching into the heavens and a lot of gold everywhere else. Queues had formed to get in the door, clean queues on each side so that there was a direct line of sight between the Nandi, Shiva’s bull, outside on an alter in the courtyard where he can be prayed to and sort of touched through the bars, and the living Shiva murti inside. It had the usual excited feel where the pilgrims are desperate for Shiva’s blessing, in this case the smoke from the incense you place your hands over to absorb and then fan the smoke over your face and body. Then you circle the interior, coming upon the eight guardians in the back corner, the Ashta Dikpalis, exquisitely carved in dark shiny wood facing outward in each direction, protecting the temple. Each of these guardians represents certain virtues and are responsible for infusing these qualities within the universe and protecting and balancing them. I left feeling even more holy and protected. The rickshaw driver then took me through a couple of the streets as I was curious exactly what an Agraharam is. The village is centered around the temple rituals. The straight lines ensure the chanting is audible across all homes. There is a community well and communal cooking, though all of this was a bit hard to sort out in the typical confusion of the ramshackle storefront stalls. Suffice it to say, the architecture of the city was laid out in such a way that the community and temple life are one and the temple’s energy is palpable in each moment. I think I picked out a row of houses on a side street which were built for scholars.

The rickshaw driver told me the blessings I received would be good for thirty days and dropped me off at Petticoat Junction.


Yes, I recognize that Petticoat Junction is a feeble joke precious few will resonate with. It’s a nod to my childhood. Railroad stations swirl space and time and sometimes bring on waves of nostalgia for events that have long since passed out of existence and didn’t even mean much in their own time.


(This is not the typical beat up second class carriage, with sweaty people holding on to the window bars, leaning hard into the wind, but it does have the cheerful aura of the ones I saw and failed to photograph.)

The bars on the windows of the second class car, the dingy yellow carriage, were festooned with brilliant orange and sun bright marigold garlands, as well as delicate garlands of roses and fragrant jasmine, and black silk scarves limned with gold that would flap in breeze. Barefoot pilgrims draped in black and gold spilled out of the doors onto the platform to stretch. They’d been traveling for two days already, and were nearing their destination. Just a few more hours now. The Mandala Season had just begun and they were headed to the Sabarimala Sree Dharma Sastha Temple dedicated to Lord Ayappa in the hill area above the Periyar Tiger Reserve in Kerala. They were each beaming with anticipation, having completed a 41 day period of sleeping on the floor, celibacy, fasting, refraining from gossip and generally purifying themselves in preparation for the transformation which would take place when they at last slammed down the coconut they’d brought so that it burst on the concrete, symbolizing releasing the ego, and then ascended the eigtheen stairs to the temple to receive the darshan of Lord Ayappa. Not ordinary stairs, but each stair a level of consciousness to be worked through before they are ready to meet him. Lord Ayappa is wildly popular, being the child of the two strongest and most powerful Hindu deities: Shiva and Vishnu. Yes, you are right again. There are actually three big guys. Brahma, creator of the universe. Vishnu, the protector of the universe. And Shiva, the destroyer who dissolves the ego and transforms life and consciousness. Brahma got caught up in a bit of a scandal and just isn’t as popular. But the other two remain massively popular. So you can imagine that their son, Ayappa, extremely powerful and yet a down home reachable guy who protects everyone and treats them equally, who is seen and felt as a friend and a guide is someone to gravitate to and worship. Hold up, you say. Shiva and Vishnu are both male. Well, gender changes aren’t that big of a deal to Hindus. They recognize that we all have male and female energies within us and if it becomes expeditious to accentuate one more than the other, well, have at it. In this particular situation, Vishnu had to save the nectar of immortality from falling into the wrong hands and to do so, he assumed the form of an enchantingly beautiful female, Mohini, who no one could resist. You do what you gotta do. When Shiva, normally a pretty detached sort of guy, asked Vishnu if he could do it again so he could see her, he did and… well, even Shiva couldn’t resist…and there you have it, he impregnates her. No awkward conversations afterward: they both accepted it as part of The Cosmic Plan. That is, for them to produce a child who is the perfect harmony of Vishnu’s protective energy and Shiva’s fierce, ascetic, transformative energy. Inarguable logic, really.

The pilgrims carried with them an Irumudi Ketti, a bundle of offerings they would carry on their head as they ascended the eighteen stairs to Ayappa. It must not touch the ground. The first five steps are for meditating upon and conquering sensory attachment: sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch. The second five are an acknowledgment of mastering the impulses of the five organs of action: speech, hands, feet, reproduction and excretion. Steps ten through fifteen symbolize rising above the material world: earth, air, water, fire and space. The last three are where the pilgrim becomes very emotional as he/she moves from surrendering the outer world to surrendering his/her inner barriers: the mind, the intellect and the ego. 

Step Sixteen. A good time to pray to Lord Hanuman, master of conquering the monkey mind.

Tens of millions of pilgrims climb these stairs each Mandala Season and report a mind-blowing transformation. They will weave this ecstasy into the fabric of their souls and many will return year after year.

I had Ayappa pilgrims as my cabin mates on the journey from Palakkad Junction, not because they were assigned there, but because they’d been on the train quite some time before I boarded and had established a society where it was accepted they would sit in any open space on any convenient berth. There was extra space on mine, even more when they elbowed my packs closer to me. I didn’t get it at first, silently marveling at their audacity, but I followed the cultural cues and let it slide. The other two in my compartment were a married couple on a different pilgrimage. She was, like most Indian women, tantalizingly gorgeous swathed in glimmering fabric with fresh flowers in her long thick hair and sparkling jewelry adorning every other inch. He was a dear understatement, at last pursuing his passion as a yoga instructor after years devoted to a dull profession. They were on a pilgrimage to temples devoted to protecting family ties and especially children.  Their children were grown, but still loved intensely. They were praying for their protection. They'd been to the Guruvayur Temple and were on their way to the Sree Vallabha Temple.

I’d met pilgrims doing the Shiva joytirlings and Shiva devotees at the many Shiva temples, but had yet to come across many Vishnu disciples. I was curious what the vibe would be like in Varkala.





The Janardanaswarmy Temple in Varkala overlooking the Arabian Sea.

Janardhana, an incarnation of Vishnu, devoted to karma purification, protection, removing obstacles and granting relief from suffering appeared in Varkala at the site of this temple and you can still feel his warm and loving energy here. When I turned to look back at the temple, my mind’s eye sensed his heart before it sensed the building. 

Legend has it that Brahma sent three troubled sages who had appealed to him for atonement from their wrongdoing, on a journey to an unspecified destination. This vagueness of course troubled them further and they beseeched him for further instruction. They had at least learned not to trust their instincts, which had led them into the pickle they were in. He advised them to shoot their arrows and where they fell was where they should go. So the arrows landed in present day Varkala, the land of the falling arrows. Unsure what to do next, they fell to their knees again. This time, Vishnu appeared in his incarnation as Janardhana, a compassionate fellow who told them to bathe in the ocean and their sins, along with any residual negative karma would be cleansed. He blessed the beach here, Papanasam Beach so that anyone who steps in here henceforth can take advantage of this purification. 

As this mirrors the function of the Kashi Temple in Varanasi on the Ganges River, the temple has earned the colloquial name as Kashi of the South.

Of course I swam there. And felt significantly lighter after.

My mission accomplished, it was time to leave this tourist town. Crazy enough, the tourists stayed to the beach to the south. They either didn’t get the memo or were simply comfortable in their own skin.

The train from Varkala to Chennai is a long one, sixteen hours if not delayed. By now, I was comfortable and had my setup ready. I’d learned not to panic about not having water and food. The Indian Railways sells a liter of water for fourteen rupees which you can buy from stalls on the platform or from vendors who walk down the aisles of the train fairly regularly. They also sell food or you can order it on the IRCTC or Ixigo app from upcoming stations and someone in a hurry to get back off the train will show up with your food, relieved to have found you in time. Often a tip is automatically added to your order.

I had a bottom berth this time and wanted a good long rest, so I set up my bed with the items I would want (eye mask, ear buds, tissues, extra socks and underwear) in a satchel I hung on the bar next to my head. I looped my backpacks together with a cable and lopped it through the bar on the bottom berth, sliding them under the berth and locking it. Next to me on the table I placed my water bottle, a pack of tissues and my Kindle. You build a level of trust with your cabin mates for when you go to the bathroom. When I began the trip, I thought the train toilets were the worst. But by now I’d realized they were actually some of the cleanest. Still, it’s good to wear a face mask as the stench is pretty bad. It became unbearable on my thirty hour train ride. And the crew gave up on cleaning the train as well, so I was relieved to deboard that one and am hopeful another one does not rival that marathon. This time I had a great sleep. I had a light meal served and then tucked in early. I set up my silk cocoon, my bamboo blanket which is soft and serves as my security blanket and the shawl I bought at the bus station in Kalka for heading into the Himalayas. The air conditioning can get a little intense. Thankfully, the sound of the train wheels hypnotizes me and I was down for a good twelve hours.

As we approached Chennai in Tamil Nadu, things changed. The language for one. Too, many of the buildings had geometric patterns painted on them. They’d embraced the Art Deco movement and it was still freshly visible. That was a bit surprising. Here and there are traces of the countries which have occupied and colonized bits of India. Everyone was down for laying claim to the land of spices. But I hadn’t seen traces more modern than the mid nineteenth century until now. We pulled into Chennai a little under an hour late, around 8 am. I had to catch a bus across town at noon. That gave me time to check out the Lord Murugan temple, noted for its colorful gopurams. 


Floral garland makers have thriving businesses here. Not only are the garlands presented as an offering, but the archakar can bless them and return them to you along with the incense ash that you smudge on your chakras and even taste if you’d like.

Photos are not allowed within the temple grounds. This complex has several gopurams with tons of happy deities. It feels like a party with all of his crazy-looking friends hanging around; it’s hard not to gravitate toward Murugan. He’s a straight-shooter, not about just doling out riches to everyone who wants them, but more about guiding one to ethically earned abundance. He’s there as a protector. He’s always ready, either sitting on or standing near his steed, a peacock ready to help one cut away illusions. Most of his devotees say that when they pray to him, everything unnecessary falls away and they can see their path more clearly. He helps them to face their fears and persevere. He will test your resolve, but devotees recognize the resulting frustrations as a step toward earning the goal. They are learning and Murugan is purifying the path. The peacock, a bird which thrives in heat, dust, monsoon mud and wild forests, yet remains graceful and brilliantly-colored symbolizes prosperity that survives difficulty and the ability to stay radiant even amid chaos.

Murugan inherited the best qualities of both of his parents, Shiva and Parvati. Shiva, not an emotional guy, was a tough catch and legend has it that Parvati loved him deeply steadfastly, performing tapas for eons until he felt inclined to take her as his wife. Murugan, borne of six sparks Parvati nurtured into one child is a balanced, perfected version of their best qualities: Shiva’s courage, Parvati’s compassion, Shiva’s wisdom, Parvati’s tenderness, Shiva’s ascetic clarity and Parvati’s abundant energy all folded into one youthful, dynamic form, a bro who will stand by your side. (He is in fact, Ganesha’s brother.) What’s not to love? The energy in the temple in Puducherry is the happiest one I’ve been in. It is colorful and feels light and hopeful, zesty even. Of course photos are not allowed but here is Murugan on an outer wall.

(I couldn’t clean up the railing or remove all of the wires. I have come to believe fully that the Indian mind does not even see the ugliness that I do, the fat black utility wires crisscrossing everything and hanging down perilously in heavy bundles, the splotches of black mold on all of the buildings, the splattered feces and piles of garbage in the streets; they see only the flowers and beauty.)


Murugan has become my personal favorite deity. Who doesn’t respect a guy riding a peacock?


Here is Parvati with Baby Murugan.


And here are some of his pals hanging around the roof. There are more inside!


But this is not all that Pondicherry/aka Puducherry and neighboring Auroville are all about. (A passing note: Christians have made inroads here and their attempt at digging tentacles into the Indian mind looks cheap: the Sacred Heart church utilizes the gold flagpole and the apostles are lined up on a wall as deities might be. I mean honestly, what’s the appeal of just one guy when you could have bucketloads of gods watching over you from every direction?)

Religion isn’t for everyone. And aspiring toward enlightenment, toward freeing oneself from human foibles was not enough for Sri Aurobindo, a Cambridge-educated philosopher (1872-1950), poet, political revolutionary and yogi. He felt that there is yet another step in the evolution of human consciousness that could be taken within society, that step which allows one to work actively toward transforming human nature while still alive, that is by taking steps toward the spiritual evolution of humanity, here and now. He fully believed this is humanly possible and he and his spiritual partner Mira Alfassa, affectionately dubbed The Mother, built an ashram here in Puducherry, right next to a colorful, vibrant Ganesha temple, dedicated toward fulfilling this goal. Her diaries, The Mother’s Agenda, show her attempting to transform human nature on the cellular level, showing how consciousness affects the body. 

I walked through White Town to get there. Don’t ask me why that’s a PC name seeing as it was named for the oh-so-white French colonists who settled there. It’s a lovely neighborhood with clean wide streets and fancy railings on freshly painted buildings. 

I was surprised to see their devotees bowing and kissing the petals on their tombs as though Aurobindo and Alfassa were in fact deities.  Perhaps I’m missing something, but I found Aurobindo’s concept of spiritual evolution a secular one, defying religion as unnecessary and limiting. I guess it was just a natural outpouring of love and respect.

The ashram meditation space itself is lovely. Silent. Understated. Perfect for meditating. And so I did. I contemplated whether spiritual evolution of the species is in fact possible in time: that is, whether we can reverse climate warming before the planet no longer supports human life.

I do believe there are enough intelligent and aware people in the younger generations to make the necessary changes. That is why I wrote Cloud 8. For the astute reader, it shows present opportunities and  a clear path forward. But aspiring entrepreneurs must indeed act now. 

In 1968, The Mother (if that doesn’t sound like a cult name, I don’t know what does) inaugurated Auroville, the next town to the north, an international township “for human unity,” a living experiment in conscious community, guided by Aurobindo’s ideals. I go there tomorrow.


The Bay of Bengal in Puducherry on a stormy day. The breakfasts are really good at the Treebo South Hotel and you can drink Kingfisher Beer on the rooftop overlooking the bay at Seagull’s Bar.