As there were only two rooms with privacy, Kunju and Rajam and their respective husbands got them. Mangalam pulled out a large bedroll and spread it on one side of the thinnai in the covered corridor. On one end slept Swaminathan and on the other, Mangalam, and in the middle was Chithi with two children on either side of her.
Rajam was so exhausted with the excitement of the day, she fell asleep almost immediately. Partha came into the room and nudged her but she wouldn’t move.
“Hey Rajam…. wake up. We are finally alone Rajam…Rajam…”
But no matter what he did, she would not stir. Partha shook his head resigning himself to it not happening tonight, turned over and fell asleep. The house was silent except for the sounds of varied snores emanating from different parts of the house. Everyone was asleep, preparing for the big day tomorrow.
CHAPTER 32 – RAJAM
CHIDAMBARAM
Swaminathan dressed hours earlier than everyone else and was doing his best to get them to leave. The prayers would begin shortly, and he didn’t want to miss any of the proceedings. “Come on, I can’t wait all day. If you are not ready in fifteen minutes, then I’m afraid I will have to leave without you. Come on.” But his requests appeared to have fallen on deaf ears.
“Amma?” Rajam asked softly, when she was sure Chithi was out of earshot. “Why is Chithi not getting dressed?”
“She can’t come with us. She is a widow. Sankaracharya won’t meet widows.”
“Why?” asked a perplexed Rajam.
“That’s just how it is; I don’t know why. We never question these things but I’m sure he must have a good reason.”
“How can we leave her all by herself?”
“She is used to it; she doesn’t care. This is not the first time she has stayed home alone.”
Rajam was sad. It wasn’t fair. After all, poor Parvathi Chithi had done nothing to deserve her fate. Why did she have to live such an isolated life? How could such a holy man follow customs so blindly and not question them? Mangalam saw Rajam looking upset, her brow furrowing as she agonized over this injustice.
“Rajam, you have to learn not to question everything. Sometimes you just have to accept things the way they are. You can’t fight the whole system. You and I may think it’s unfair but if we take her to the Madham, then he may refuse to see any of us, and that would be terrible. I promise you, Chithi is fine with it. She is used to it, so please don’t fret.”
“That may be so but I still think it’s unfair,” said Rajam, who wasn’t happy with her mother’s reasoning.
“Never mind now, hurry up. Your father is screaming.”
By the time they reached their destination, the morning prayers were already under way. The Madham was in a beautiful building donated by the Raja’s family, with intricate ornamentation all around the facade. It had three floors and all the rooms on the upper floors had small balconies, which overlooked the busy South Street. They left their slippers on a large rack outside the building and climbed up the marble staircase leading to the entrance of the mansion. They entered a huge hall, which during the Raja’s time must have served as a reception area or living room. At the far end, Rajam could see Sankaracharya seated on an ornate mahogany chair. The silence was only broken by the melodious Vedic chants of the pundits as they conducted the morning prayer. On the left side of the room the men were seated on white rugs, and on the right were the women. All the men wore simple white veshtis and no upper garments, and the women were dressed in traditional madisars, the nine yard sari worn by Brahmin women. Everyone was seated cross-legged, listening to the calming drone of the mantras. Sankaracharya sat the whole time in meditation.
Rajam looked at him in total awe. How could he sit so still for such a long time and what was he thinking about? Rajam could not sit for more than a minute without moving. Of late, she had developed a nervous habit of constant movement and could not keep her hands still. Maybe five years of Nagamma’s constant persecution had finally gotten to her. She was always anxious about being idle, afraid of Nagamma’s censure. Nagamma had no time for dawdling and no tolerance for anyone else’s idling. She always made a point of reminding Rajam that she was wasting time. As a result, Rajam felt terrible guilt when she had nothing to do. Moving her hands all the time made her feel as if she were doing something, though the action clearly demonstrated her innate anxiety. Mangalam noticed this constant movement and quietly took Rajam’s hands and enveloped them in her own warm ones. She knew Rajam did not have it easy but she was better off compared to most other women; at least she had the love of her husband. If only she could conceive, she would be occupied and have no time to think about trivialities.
After the prayers, Sankaracharya spoke to the audience. His voice was low and melodious and the topic he chose was Karma Yoga — the Yoga of Action. “Karmanye vaadhikarasthe maaphaleshu kadaachana,” Rajam recited along with the saint this familiar couplet from the BhagavadGita. “Perform your duty, immerse yourself in action,” the saint continued. “Do not worry about the fruits of your actions…”
Rajam glanced sideways at Partha, who was nodding off. She tried to catch her father’s eye to tell him to nudge Partha awake but he was too absorbed in the lecture. This was embarrassing! In a short while, the saint got up and the crowd made two lines, filing past him and prostrating themselves before him to get his blessings. Swaminathan went to the side and spoke to some official who was in charge of the Madham. He came back and signaled to Mangalam to move to the side, from where they would take the family for a special darshanam.
The official introduced the family to the saint. Rajam was overwhelmed and at the same time a little nervous to be so close to him. Swaminathan spoke to him and explained their familial connection. Immediately Sankaracharya broke into a smile and talked about their common relatives, asking how they were. Swaminathan pulled Rajam and Partha to the front of the devotees gathered there. “Periyavar,” he said using a respectful title, “this is my daughter, Rajalakshmi, and her husband, Parthasarathy. I have brought them here to seek your blessings. She has been married for five years and has no children. With your blessings and God’s grace, we hope she will have a child soon.”
Sankaracharya looked at Rajam for a few minutes and then got up and went to the statue of Kamakshi. He picked up a large piece of fragrant sandal paste and a few flowers and then in a low monotone recited some prayers. In a few moments he returned and placed this in Rajam’s outstretched palms.
“This is Kamakshi Meru. Next year you will have a daughter. Name her Kamakshi.”
That was all he said. Rajam was overwhelmed; tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. A million thoughts entered her head simultaneously. Is it true? Does he really know, or is he trying to placate me? Will I really have a child, and a daughter at that? How does he know? Oh dear God, please let this be true. If I have a child, I will pray to him for the rest of my life. Oh dear Kamakshiamman, enter my womb and make it flower. Please. I cannot think of anything I want more than a child. She held her palms to her face and smelt the deep fragrance of jasmine combined with sandal paste and camphor. Was this Meru really magical? Could it change my fate? Rajam’s confusion and emotional turmoil kept her from holding onto a single thought for any length of time. Almost in a daze, she made her way outside and got onto the vilvandi. She looked at Partha. “Do you think what he said will come true?”
Partha shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. I hope so.”
Mangalam intervened quickly. “Rajam, don’t doubt for a moment the clarity of vision that Yogis like Sankaracharya possess. Evolved souls can see beyond our normal material life. If they say something will happen, then you can rest assured that it will happen. Don’t ever let doubt cloud your mind. Have faith and never doubt Periyavar’s word.”
When they reached home, Mangalam gave Rajam a small, round brass box in which to store the Meru. Then both of them went to the pooja altar and placed it at the feet of the picture of Goddess Kanchi Kamakshi. They cl
osed their eyes and chanted the Devi Stotra.
“Ya devi sarva bhootheshu…”
Both of them were silent for a while. Then Mangalam took a little chandanam from the Meru and applied it to Rajam’s forehead and put some on her belly.
“Believe him. You will have a child soon.”
“Yes,” said Rajam. “I will have a child soon. And I will call her Kamakshi.”
Part XII
Dharmu
CHAPTER 33 – KANDU
NAGARCOIL
Dharmu sat in the corner of the mutram, hoping the entire six weeks of their holiday in Nagarcoil would pass without anyone noticing her. She walked along the side corridors admiring the beautiful Ravi Varma paintings of women. The pearls and rubies glimmered in the light, making it difficult to believe they were merely painted on. Only Ravi Varma knew how to bring the canvas to life. She stopped before a painting of a Kerala woman in a white mundu and green blouse, holding a child at her waist. The woman’s eyes were sad, as if they held a deep, dark secret. Staring for a while at the painting, Dharmu felt a deep connection with the woman. Ever since she heard the news about her father’s infidelity, she had slipped into depression. She felt so sorry for her mother and hated that now she knew the secret too. She would have to keep it locked in her heart, unable to tell a soul about it. Now random thoughts of hate, revenge and anger swirled in her brain, and she was unable to be around anyone for long.
Her sisters-in-law didn’t like her. She knew that by the way the conversation came to an abrupt halt every time she walked into the room. They talked in hushed whispers and then broke into peals of laughter, glancing slyly in her direction. She was no fool. She knew they talked about her behind her back and she had little control over that. To be perfectly honest, she did not want their friendship, so she was happy to just pretend they didn’t exist. She supposed that irked them even more and resulted in more talk and jokes behind her back but she just did not care. Her mother-in-law was nice enough and six weeks was a short time. Besides, Mahadevan would soon arrive, so hopefully the focus would change and maybe their demeanor would follow suit.
For Kandu on the other hand, time spent here was never enough. What he loved more than anything else was to shadow his grandfather around the house, doing whatever he did. He even tried standing tall and holding his head high with his hands on his hips, mimicking Nilakantan’s proud stance. This morning he awoke minutes after his grandfather, and after taking a quick bath, Kandu followed him to the garden to collect flowers for the daily pooja.
Still very early in the morning, shortly after daybreak, they stayed close to the house, only choosing the flowers on the bushes immediately surrounding the house. Snakes and scorpions inhabited the garden and it was still too dark to go into the back garden, which had a greater variety to choose from. In the evening they would gather the leaves from the Vilva tree, which was especially auspicious for those who did Shiva pooja — special prayers to Lord Shiva. Once they picked the flowers, they visited the store room and brought out a coconut. Nilakantan smiled at his grandson. “How many times do you think I need to hit this coconut before it breaks?”
“Once?” answered Kandu confidently, and he was right. The coconut had been removed from its earlier green encasing but still had stray hairs covering it; Nilakantan deftly tore them away from the brown surface, exposing the central seam. Kandu gleefully watched as his grandfather balanced the coconut in the palm of his left hand with the central seam facing up. Closing his eyes, Nilakantan raised his right hand. In one powerful swoop, his hand struck the coconut exactly on the middle of the central seam, breaking it into two equal halves, deftly cupping the water in one of the coconut cups but not before a few drops splashed on the floor. “How do you do that, Thatha?” Kandu could never control his amazement, even though he watched this very act every single day.
“Kandu, one day I will teach you. It is not just strength, but focus and concentration on the weakest spot on the central seam of the coconut that does the trick. I have had years of practice.”
Next, all the deities needed to be washed, which was Kandu’s favorite job. He rubbed the silver idols until all traces of kumkumam and chandanam had been removed. His next task was to make fresh sandal paste. He sprinkled water onto the round stone disc and then using a stick of fragrant sandalwood, he began rubbing it against the stone disc, diligently moving it in a clockwise direction. Nilakantan glanced sideways, amused to see Kandu working with such fierce concentration, with his tongue characteristically sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Once all the preparations were finished, Kandu sat down and stared at the altar. Everything looked so beautiful. All the shrines had been anointed with chandanam and kumkumam and the room was filled with the fragrance of vibuthi, camphor, incense and the powerful aroma of jasmine. The sun streamed through the open window, its rays directly shining on the beautiful Maragada Lingam, the emerald green lingam in the center of the altar. To represent Shiva’s third eye, Nilakantan had a large diamond inserted into the emerald, causing the lingam to appear on fire, flashing brilliant shades of red, green and white. The spectacle was dazzling. Kandu knew he mustn’t talk once his grandfather was immersed in his pooja but somehow the words slipped out of his mouth. “Thatha, from where did you get this lingam?”
Nilakantan turned his head sharply, his eyes momentarily angry, and Kandu shrank back covering his errant mouth with his hands. Thatha was kind but his rules had to be followed, and one of them was that you could not speak unless spoken to during his pooja. Kandu slunk out of the pooja room as silently as he could. He was a little upset and didn’t want to annoy his grandfather any more. He was playing in the front yard when the sound of the temple bell alerted him, and he ran back into the house towards the pooja room. Nilakantan did his pooja twice daily and after he finished he did an aarathi, for which all the family members had to be present. As soon as they heard the bell, they dropped whatever they were doing and congregated in the pooja room, Kandu the first to arrive. Nilakantan lit all twenty wicks on the oil lamp and began the aarathi. A quick glance told him which family members were absent and he noticed that the errant Kannan was missing. Chanting the Rudram, he did the aarathi with the lamp, moving it clockwise in front of the altar three times. Then on a large silver salver he put a few pieces of camphor and did the aarathi again. One by one, the family members passed their hands over the burning camphor and then touched their eyes, thereby getting the grace from the day’s prayers.
Kannan had joined the queue by now, late as usual, and had to face the disapproval in his father’s eyes. He deliberately kept his eyes down, not daring to look his father in the face. All of them did namaskaram, bowing down and touching their heads to the floor. The men prostrated themselves, placing their entire body full length on the floor, and the women knelt down, leaning forward as they touched their heads to the floor. Once this was over, everyone dispersed, continuing with their chores where they had left off. This was a ritual that bonded the family, one handed down over generations. Kandu was about to scamper off when Nilakantan called him. Kandu was nervous. Was Thatha angry?
“Kandu, you asked about the Maragada Lingam. Come sit with me and let me tell you how it came into this family.”
Kandu breathed a sigh of relief and gleefully plonked himself on Nilakantan’s lap.
“Appanshayal was a great devotee of Shiva and we learned to chant all the Shiva mantrams from the time we could talk. Do you know any of them?”
“No, Daddy never taught me.” Kandu was truthful but this news disturbed his grandfather, who believed religion was an integral part of a person’s character and laid the foundation for the right values and attitudes. He was annoyed Mahadevan had not taught his only son any chants or prayers. This needed to be addressed but Mahadevan was a grown man, who could only be advised, not coerced.
“Hmm… that should be remedied. I will speak to him about it when he comes here. But getting back to my story, I was studying engineering in Trivan
drum. Every morning on my way to work I would stop at the Shiva temple to pray. The temple was small but it had a lingam that had been there for hundreds of years. The deity was called Gangadhara Swami because the river Ganga streams out of the locks in Shiva’s head.”
“Really? How come?” Kandu had not heard this story before, and he loved what he called ‘God Stories.’ Vacation time was full of God stories, anecdotes from Hindu mythology which got siphoned out of his memory through the year until his next visit to Nagarcoil.
“Ganga was a celestial river, which flowed in heaven. If she came directly from the heavens to earth, then her power and force would split the earth apart. That’s why Shiva absorbed the energy of the river in his matted locks and released the water in a small trickle.”
“Really? One trickle makes such a huge river?”
“Don’t forget that this trickle has continued for thousands of years. Don’t interrupt Kandu, or I will forget my story. Anyway, following the aarathi at the temple, the priest gave out flowers from the feet of the deity as a blessing after receiving the holy water. That day was a special day —Shivarathri — and that evening the temple was very crowded. The prayers were to go on all night and people stayed there until early morning. After the evening aarathi, a huge crowd moved past the deity. I received my small bundle and as I was leaving the temple, I opened the basket and in between the flowers was this beautiful emerald lingam: the Maragada lingam. I was stupefied. I was sure the priest had made a mistake and I did not want to be accused of stealing such a large emerald. I ran back in but as the pooja was over, the priests had gone into the sanctum sanctorum and shut the door. I didn’t know what to do. I took the lingam home that night. The following morning I came back to the temple and looked for the priest. When I showed him the lingam, he smiled. He said the previous night he had a dream about the lingam, and in that dream he understood that this lingam had found a new owner. I was scared and didn’t know what to make of it. I was a religious person but I didn’t know how one was supposed to do the special prayers for this lingam. The priest looked at my worried eyes and told me, ‘Many families have these special lingams. Whoever has the lingam has to perform special pooja every single day. Perhaps the previous owner of the lingam could no longer perform the pooja. Such people put the lingam at the feet of the Lord in a Shiva temple and Shiva chooses his next devotee.’
When the Lotus Blooms Page 25
