‘As Dakshinamurthi, He had retreated from the world with no thought for this maya-engulfed universe, its inhabitants or their troubles. Ambika (Shakti) became Kameshvari, love incarnate, and made him Kalyana Sundara to change Him from an ocean of knowledge (in the form of Dakshinamurthi) into an ocean of compassion (in the form of Kalyana Sundara). On Her own, She was capable of showering blessings on this world. Though we say She is instrumental in making Him shower blessings on this world, in reality, it is She who does it. To remain unmoving and static is His nature. All actions are Hers. Still, She made it appear that He was the one doing everything. That’s all.’
‘This is written in the old-style devotional language of the mid-twentieth century by the person who translated it. But see how neatly the guru unpacks this lila for us?’
‘He gives Parvati all the credit,’ marvelled the mother, who was taking notes, including grown-up words like ‘savant’ and ‘colossus’ to explain later to the child as agreed between them.
‘Yes, he does. The sacred feminine is not just a pretty doll in our tradition. She’s a force, the force, who generously gives Shiva credit. But she didn’t fool the sage of Kanchi,’ smiled the guru. ‘I’m not surprised, are you that the would-be temple builders of Delhi went to seek his opinion?’
‘Did he help them?’ said the child eagerly.
‘Oh, yes! He blessed the idea and spread the word. With his backing, this seemingly impossible project suddenly found support across society and in the highest places. Many ordinary people gave what little they could, saying, “Let us pay for at least a brick in the boundary wall of Kumar’s temple or a step on the path up to him”.’
‘The Kanchi seer told the temple committee to find a certain block of granite in the bed of the river Tamraparani in south India. He said that Kumar’s main idol should be carved out of that block. How did he know that it was lying there on the river bed, a corner cut off long, long ago to make an image of Shiva? By “chance”, they were able to actually locate that very block of stone. An old, bedridden man found by “chance” was able to tell them where he thought it might be. He had heard of it long ago in the village lore of his youth. This man wept with joy when he learnt why they wanted to find that rock in the river. “Now I know why I have stayed alive so long. I can die happily with my duty done,” he said through his tears.’
‘When the rock was located and brought out, V. Ganapati Stapathi, the master stone carver, checked it out and found that it was perfect according to the rules of the Shilpa Shastra. After he made Kumar’s idol, he brought it to the Kanchi seer, who spent the night meditating by it and anointed it with holy ash before it was tenderly taken north to Delhi. The stapathi did such a fine job that he got the National Award the next year.’
‘We can divide the sthala puran or founding history of Uttara Swami Malai into four phases. Between 1944 and 1961, the worship of Kartikeya was reintroduced in the north, that too in the country’s capital, resulting in the desire to build him a temple in his old homeland.’
‘Between 1961 and 1962, with Kartikeya appearing in a dream to a devotee, the desire began to get real with the crucial step of finding and getting the right location which was in harmony with the lost devotional history of Delhi.’
‘From 1962 to 1973, with the backing of the sage of Kanchi, the temple took shape stage by stage with the support of the public, of temple trusts across India, and with generous contributions by the government of Tamil Nadu and finally, the support of the Central Government, with the participation of Prime Ministers Lal Bahadur Shastri and Indira Gandhi.’
‘The lawyer-politician R. Venkataraman, who became the eighth President of India, was nudged by the sage of Kanchi to take on the role of president of the temple society.’
‘This phase of the temple’s founding history concluded gloriously in June 1973 with the kumbhabhishekam or consecration of the temple by Sri Jayendra Sarasvati, the then-junior Shankaracharya of Kanchipuram. The great Carnatic singer M.S. Subbulakshmi sang for the occasion and no less than the Shivacharya or chief priest of the Madurai Meenakshi temple came to conduct the inaugural puja with due diligence.’
‘There’s been no looking back since 1973. Kartikeya or “Shivaskanda Murti” as his image is called in Delhi is truly back home and attracts devotees from many regions who enjoy praying to this darling son of Shiva and Parvati. This temple is for anyone who loves them. There’s even a Sikh gentleman on the temple management committee.’
‘Devotees think that this temple is especially lucky for soldiers and children and for anyone who has problems studying or feels nervous about exams. This is so not only because Kartikeya is a war god but also a symbol of deep learning. Did he not explain the meaning of “Om” to Shiva himself? So Uttara Swami Malai is a strong symbol of our cultural unity across regions in the capital of free India. It’s so charming that wild peacocks flock to this temple despite the busy main road below it.’
‘I want to see Kumar!’ said the child urgently.
‘I do, too,’ said the father. ‘I want to see this poetry-loving warrior god who’s come back to us, in the temple that began as the dream of a few young men with no money.’
‘We’ll all go,’ said the grandfather, looking very pleased. ‘I’ve often noticed this temple on the way to the airport. But I had no curiosity about it because I thought it was a south Indian place where I wouldn’t know what to do. I had no idea that it was such an organic part of Delhi with a link to the Mahabharata, or that these amazing histories lie hidden in it. I did say that I want us to experience holy places together—and here’s one, right under our noses.’
‘I want to know more about the sage of Kanchi,’ said the grandmother.
The mother, who had quietly Googled for a minute, looked up from her phone. ‘Indians in the US are building a mani mandap or memorial tower to him in New Jersey!’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m not surprised. He was “the real thing”,’ said the guru. ‘Anyhow, you’ll see the legends of the six chakra temples carved on the outer wall of the main shrine at Malai Mandir. You’ll recognize them now, for you know their stories.’
‘Oh, and I forgot to tell you something nice. They’ve added shrines to Ganapati, Parvati and Shiva up there. So say hello to everyone in our First Family, back home together for all to see. How Valmiki, Vyasa and Kalidasa would have liked that.’
8
Kalinath
‘While warring factions carry on fighting, the inner life of Bharat, if not India, goes on peacefully,’ said the guru after a fortnight. He had gone away to visit friends in the Kangra Valley in Himachal Pradesh and had dropped by after his return, for a cup of tea and a chat with the grandfather. He planned to resume the story sessions on the following Monday.
‘What makes you say that, Guruji?’ asked the grandfather.
‘I saw that for myself last week in Himachal Pradesh, at the seventeenth-century village of Paragpur in Kangra district. So much history has swirled over it, and today it has roads, electricity, schools, clinics, hotels, the internet . . . but despite these lifestyle changes, its habit of faith seems to go on as if nothing has ever happened to it except the lila of the gods. It was very moving,’ said the guru.
‘Paragpur was apparently the stronghold of the Kuthialas, a branch of the Sood clan, who were treasurers to the royal family of Kangra. Next door to Paragpur is Garli Village, a charming heritage site, which is the old domicile of the Soods, who were Silk Route merchants, builders of cities like Simla, and patrons of commerce and culture. Their old homes show their fascinating cross-continental history—an Italianate villa here, a Chinese lintel there—while not far away the river Beas was apparently witness to the advent of Alexander of Macedonia around 325 bce. It’s all quite amazing.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said the grandfather. ‘Over the last many years I’ve been by the Beas and on the Beas and across the Beas, and even in the Beas, and there’s something about that river. It has so much perso
nality, a mysterious air of “I would if I could” . . . tell stories, I mean.’
‘Exactly. When I thought of how much history had flown along with it, and its old rulers, the Katoch clan, who claim descent from the Trigarta kings in the Mahabharata—well, I wanted to nudge the Beas by its shoulder of mauve stone and say in my most cajoling tone, “Vipasha, you most excellent river, won’t you tell us of old, forgotten far-off things and battles long ago?”’
‘I used to sit by the Beas at sunset to soak in the peace of the deepening twilight. All I could hear was the sound of the river and the call of a night bird or two. Really, what had I expected? That a water sprite would emerge and start telling me fabulous stories, like my grandmother told me in my childhood? I used to walk back irrationally disappointed to the ashram I stayed in. But the Beas gave me a wonderful surprise one morning, something that I could not have imagined despite so many years of being amazed by “the wonder that is India”.’
‘This happened when I went to visit the temple of Sri Kalinath Kaleshwar Mahadev at Paragpur. Its story goes that in yet another ancient battle between the devas and the asuras, Parvati assumed the fierce form of Kali to defeat the aggressors. But she went on storming even after her victory, out of control . . . and Shiva had had to lie down inert in her path to stop her. Kali stepped right on him, roaring in rage, and only then did she come out of her fury, and recoil in horror when she saw what she had done. She went away then, greatly embarrassed, and it was here, at this site on the banks of the Beas, that Shiva is believed to have brought her out of her depression and made her smile again.’
‘It was a story I knew from childhood but I knew nothing of this temple or its connection with this story. Incredibly, the sanyasis of the Niranjana Akhada who attended on “Kalesar” as they call Kaleshwar locally were from south India. They retold the legend in Hindi for me and I came back marvelling at how deep and far the dotted lines run across our country. Wherever you go, you find Mahadev. I felt so blessed that I got to hear the legend of Kalinath Kaleshwar right there by the Beas, where Shiva consoled Parvati and persuaded her to come back home to Kailash.’
‘Is it a fine temple?’ asked the grandfather.
‘The temple itself is simple and relatively new because of the difficult history of the region in the last few centuries before Independence. But the place has an ancient association and a devotional atmosphere. The immense bhakti of the people through all the tides of history has kept its holiness alive to this day. They did not forget their ancient sacred geography. I felt close to Shiva-Parvati there,’ said the guru. ‘Kalesar gave me back some lost perspective on what is illusion and what is “permanent”—that kings may come and kings may go but God goes on forever.’
‘You’re quoting again from old English poetry with your own words put in,’ teased the grandfather.
‘That’s right,’ laughed the guru. ‘Now let me quote directly from the parables of Sri Ramakrishna. This one perfectly illustrates the timeless sense of God that I felt by the Beas.’
Taking out a book from his cloth bag, the guru found the page he wanted and began to read aloud:
‘The truth is that God alone is real and all else is unreal. Men, universe, house, children, all these are like the magic of the magician. The magician strikes his wand and says: “Come, delusion! Come, confusion!”
Then he says to the audience, “Open the lid of the pot; see the birds fly into the sky.”
But the magician alone is real and his magic unreal.
The unreal exists for a second and then vanishes.
Shiva was seated in Kailash. His companion Nandi was near Him. Suddenly a terrific noise arose.
“Revered sir,” said Nandi, “what does that mean?”
Shiva said: “Ravana is born. That is the meaning!”
A few moments later another terrific noise was heard.
“Now what is this noise?” Nandi asked. Shiva said with a smile, “Ravana is dead.”
Birth and death are like magic. You see the magic for a second and then it disappears. God alone is real and all else unreal. Water alone is real; its bubbles appear and disappear. They disappear into the very water from which they rise.’
‘Ah,’ said the grandfather. ‘That certainly sums it up.’
‘Kalinath Kaleshwar has decided next week’s stories for me,’ said the guru, getting up to leave.
On his next visit, the guru asked the mother, ‘Beti, do you have a map of India?’
‘We do, indeed,’ said the mother. ‘You can see everything on the phone or laptop nowadays but we also like to have a big map to spread out on the table and look at together when we plan holidays.’
She fetched the map and unfolded it on the carpet.
‘Look for Unakoti in Tripura,’ said the guru to the child.
‘Here,’ said the child after looking carefully at the north-east.
‘Do you know that the ancient goddess of the state is Parvati? She’s worshipped as Tripurasundari there in the far north-east—exactly as she is in Tamil Nadu in the farthest south. Unakoti in Tripura is a very special place for Parvati and Shiva,’ said the guru.
‘Wherever you go, you find Mahadev,’ murmured the grandfather.
‘You do,’ said the guru, smiling at him.
‘Even today, in Tripura?’ exclaimed the mother. ‘So the enemies of religion couldn’t kill the gods there, after all.’
‘If you mean the Nawab of Bengal in the sixteenth century, he certainly paid the customary friendly visit and broke the old Shiva temples of Tripura,’ said the guru. ‘But his kingdom, in turn, was swallowed up by the British in 1757 at the Battle of Plassey. Similarly, it was Nadir Shah of Persia who broke the Mughals. Live by the sword, die by the sword. The last Mughals were pensioners of the Marathas. No king stays forever. Only the Paramatma is everlasting!’
‘Oh, in my view, it’s best to be matter-of-fact about history, that it was the law of the jungle. Meanwhile, here we are together today, as citizens of one republic. It’s much better that we all move on positively as friends and fellow-citizens,’ said the grandfather.
‘But the common people seem to have never given up the grand old gods,’ said the grandmother.
‘I respect some of the better principles of the Left,’ said the guru.
‘Really, Teacher?’ asked the father.
‘Yes, I do. Funnily, they are in tune with some of the things said in the Upanishads and by Acharya Adi Shankara. But I wish the Left had let the gods be. You cannot take away something as interesting as the gods without giving us something better in exchange.’
‘People need the gods despite everything . . . or maybe because of everything,’ said the grandmother.
‘That’s exactly it,’ said the guru. ‘You remember the Shad Ripu, the six enemies released into the world at the time of Creation? They are kama, krodha, moha, lobha, mada and matsarya—lust, anger, greed, illusion, pride and envy.’
‘They exist in each one of us. Thoughts of the gods help us fight these inner enemies. It’s a long, tiring battle and we are defeated many times, like Indra was by Vritra. The enemies of religion, being ordinary human beings like everyone else, also had these six inner enemies within them. So, by and by, after throwing out the old kings and the old gods for new, they failed, too, as rulers. As the saying goes, “Power corrupts”. And, of course, the old gods came right back into the open after that because they had never really left the hearts of most people.’
‘But what happened to Shiva in Tripura?’ asked the child, with patient persistence. As the only child and the pet of the family, she was used to being listened to at once. But the storytelling sessions had begun to teach her that some things were a group experience.
‘The story goes that Shiva once spent a night in the hills of Unakoti in Tripura on the way back home to Kailash,’ said the guru. ‘With him were 99,99,999 followers, one short of a crore or “Unakoti”. Wanting to get home soon, Shiva asked his followers to wake up well
before dawn. However, not one was awake on time except for Lord Shiva himself. So Shiva went off on his own, leaving them behind. When they woke up and realized their mistake, they were too ashamed to move and turned to stone, deciding to stay forever at the place where they had last seen Mahadev. The rocks on the Unakoti hills are said to be the remains of that entourage.’
‘Where exactly is Unakoti in Tripura? I would like to see it,’ said the grandmother.
The mother read aloud from her phone: ‘Unakoti is 178 km to the north from Agartala, the capital of Tripura, and very close to the town of Kailashahar. There are huge rock sculptures at Unakoti, carved from sandstone. The 30 foot high central figure of Shiva has Durga on one side. There’s also a gigantic image of Ganapati. Shiva is worshipped as Kal Bhairav at Unakoti and there’s a huge fair there every April, called the Ashokashtami Mela.’
‘I wonder how old these images are,’ said the father.
‘Scholars say that they could be from the seventh and ninth centuries. That means almost 1,100–1,300 years ago!’ read the mother. ‘The legends of Unakoti are found in the Rajmala, the chronicles of the Manikya kings of Tripura.’
‘Rajmala reminds me of Rajatarangini, the chronicles of the kings of Kashmir by Kalhana,’ said the grandfather. ‘I read an English translation long ago. It was done by Ranjit Pandit, the brother-in-law of Pandit Nehru.’
‘Any Shiva stories from Kashmir?’ asked the mother.
‘Best not to go there,’ said the father. ‘If someone says “Kashmir”, all I seem to think of now are our brave soldiers and the wandering dispossessed.’
‘I pray for our men and their families, and always, for peace,’ said the grandmother, her face clouding.
‘I pray, too,’ said her son. ‘I’m painfully aware of our soldiers constantly fighting terror out there while I get on with my life here.’
Mahadev Page 8