The Delirium of Negation

by Victor Mahn

  “No, you look lost. None should look that way in the presence of God, of Shiva. I will not charge you any money, young Sir, if that is your fear. Why, I have not been a guide to anyone before either!”

  Siddhanath stared at the man, did not utter anything. The man had several large rows of the holy ash spread across his forehead. Silence is what I need now, for the world, and for myself. He looked away, at the other end of the cave-like passageway, heard the rumblings of what must be rain outside.

  “Look, it is raining out there. And we are stuck here, the two of us. And there is the Gurukul of the shrine. A little chat with him on the history of place, of the artisans and devadasis that the good king had around the grounds. And we could also munch on some of the sweet offerings, that’ll do you some good. Will nourish your frail body, no doubt.” The man folded his arms; was apparently waiting for a response.

  “Really, I am fine. I need to be alone now, please. I would like to meditate. That is why I have come here to this shrine of the goddess, I want to connect to Her on the spiritual plane. I was told that I could infuse myself onto the Holy Mother.”

  “Oh, all right. Why did you not say so before?” the man looked grim. He was not certain if he should leave Siddhanath abruptly, as that would give the impression that he was only interested in talking to someone new to the area; that he would have proffered his recital onto the common folk several times over, and that they took the liberty of avoiding him at all costs. Presently, he placed his right palm onto his chest and said, “Anyway, I am pleased to have met you. My name is Subramanyan, and my clan is that of the temple’s deities’ painters. My family has been here for a hundred years.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I come from the north, as you have observed. My name is Siddhanath.” He was careful not to mention his caste or creed. He was aware that the people in the south were Dravidians, and that they had divergent systems of life.

  “Very good, young Siddhanath. Very good!”

  “I may be need of some assistance in getting to the pond, the one they say that will cleanse the soul of sins?” Siddhanath was glad that he could keep the other interested in the conversation, as he would not be leaving soon, for the rain seemed to have grown heavier. The cosiness within the passageway had heightened.

  “Well!” Subramanyan was beaming now at the prospect of elucidating the unknowns to the newcomer. “There are actually five ponds within the temple grounds. I believe that the pond you are referring to is the Karunyamirdha Theertam. It eradicates sin and dissolves bad karma. So it is said.” He found that he could not elaborate on the subject beyond that. But he thought he’d point to where the pond was, and said, “It’s in that direction.” Then, “You have committed such a sin?”

  “I have.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I must leave now. Thank you.”

  “What? It is raining rather heavily now! You will slip on the way down the steps!” Subramanyan gave a start.

  “I do not mind falling down in that manner, Sir. I have already fallen in life, down through many flights. This fall will not harm me, nor does it scare me.” Siddhanath was looking out through a rectangular opening in the left wall, with the splashes of raindrops slowly giving birth to a puddle on the ground below the opening. “There is some peace in this weather. There is calmness in the storm.”

  “I hope you are aware that you are bare from the waist up, just as I am. You will be down with a fever by tomorrow. Such foolishness. Hmm! Youths, indeed!”

  I care not for conversations anymore. My beloved, my Kausalya! If I could only have you in my arms now. To see you…

  “Thank you…” Siddhanath could not recall the man’s name. He then came to realise that he did not care for names, either. Nor to interact with anyone. With that thought firmly held in his mind, he darted out from the passageway, moved with cat-like motion through the high arches, narrow corridors, and ultimately, out through one of the entrances, or exits (he could not tell which). He could now see a huge tank of water, which was clearly manmade. And at the edge, there were steps leading to the water, such as those in his city of birth, Kāsi. He pondered on whether the surface of the steps would be as slimy and slippery as those back home. Well, that does not matter.

  He was under the minimal cover of the protruding ledge above him, which shielded him from as much rain as it could manage. His feet, right up to his knees, were wet now. And cold. Right opposite him, he could see several other pilgrims and visitors under the enclosure of the main temple structure, the one with the huge statue of Nandi and the Shiva Linga.

  He stepped out into the rain, biting his lips inward to his mouth and clenching his fists. He kept his gaze at the pond. I shall be liberated soon, the sins removed. The rain seemed to be coming down at a steady rate, though there was no wind, which would have made it worse. It does not matter; he kept on whispering that. He was soon at the last step, the large volume of water just a foot away. He stopped then, loosened his grip of his fists and lightly waved his fingers.

  Siddhanath took a deep breath and stepped into the water. He was deep to his hips when he shut his eyes and bent forward to completely immerse himself. The outward pressure of the water had the effect of numbing his awareness of the bodily functions within. He felt the chillness of the water that reminded him of the mighty Ganga, which his wife and he had crossed about a year ago. He stepped forward several paces, knew that his head was about a yard under the surface. And he did not come up. Chose not to come up…

  My sins are cleansed…