Shiva’s Temple
“Okay, so today Shiva’s Temple?”
“Yes, today is Monday, Shiva’s favorite day. A very
good day to go. I think we should go at sunset too.
Paula I want you to ask Shiva for whatever you want in
life.” says Rajee with a big smile, “Anything!”
“Okay”, I surrendered.
We walked down the narrow winding streets down to the
river’s foot crossing bridge, crossed and turned left
past the blaring music vendors. Past the towering
Ashram built in 1972, past scruffy miniature Brahma
bulls pausing in their strolls, past bangle vendors
and sugar cane juice until we came upon the taxi
stand.
Rajee spoke for some time with the cabbies and came
back to me with, well we can take a jeep and pay 40
rupees per person but the driver won’t leave until the
jeep is filled up. Or we can take a cab for 400
rupees.
I don’t mind a cab.
Yes I think its better.
We boarded the cartoonish Ambassador and accented the
45 kilometers to Shiva’s Temple. This was an
uneventful journey although my silent prayers that it
be a safe one accompanied it. I have a thing about
traveling along narrow windy ill kept roads that are
terraced along a steep gorge edged with travelers on
foot carrying large stacks of wood on their heads.
They scare me a little bit. Especially when the driver
finds it necessary to pass jeeps loaded down with
their fare. But as I had already notified God as to
these cautions there was little left to do but enjoy
the view.
Terraced hillsides from top to bottom. So thorough
they looked a part of the natural geography. Women and
children ascending on narrow footpaths back up to
hidden domiciles with plastic tanks of water balanced
on shoulders or head.
Men and women building the road, breaking stones for
the pavement, carrying bricks for building.
We rounded a bend to find the road planted with street
lamps. Here? They looked like Fisher price toys in
this setting. It reminded me of the roads my brother
and I used to carve out of the side of the creek wall
in the hard packed clay. One was toppled over and hung
over the ravine as if the giant child that had placed
it there has upset its position by arising to his
mothers call.
We were here during the slow season. During the busy
season this little road would carry up to 40,000
pilgrims a day.
We arrived amidst the hawkers of offerings, their
tables inches from our parked car. (Parking was tight)
Rajee got out and purchased two plates of offerings
and handed one to me. A metal plate that held a
marigold, some leafy sprigs, two sticks of incense in
a package, a package of white sugar balls, a plastic
sealed cup of Ganges water, a length of gold trim and
a fat chunk of incense.
“These are all his favorite things”, said Rajee, “He
love Ganges water and this plant and this is his
favorite kind of incense.”
I had to wonder about this. How did anyone know what
this mythical man with the blue skin liked. I wasn’t
aware of any favorites of Jesus’.
We passed more hawkers of offerings representative of
higher incomes. These had the addition of small-framed
illustrations and baby coconuts and altogether bigger
plates.
We wound through the narrow pathways and soon came
upon the temple; ordinary to me in its typical ornate
appearance populated with entwined deities all busy
portraying their storied character. Of which I knew
absolutely nothing. Nothing. I know the name Ramayana,
but I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the
story. I know there is something about the world being
made from a great sea of churning milk and Shiva had
something to do with this. Perhaps was created from
the churning milk. Snakes or monkeys were doing the
churning. My ignorance seemed monumental. Here were
all these great buildings founded on these stories and
people from all walks of life making this journey to
simply pray in the shelter of this temple. I imagined
a foreigner coming upon an ornate nativity scene in
front of a church in an American city and wondering
what the story going on here was.
I shadowed Rajee and did as she instructed. Give the
priest (monk? Usher? ) your cup of water. He took it
and made some sign and tore off the plastic seal for
me and handed me back the cup all in one quick move.
I kneeled in front of the altar with the stone statue
of…I can’t even remember what it was. Probably a
lingam. I did my best to look reverential and like I
had some idea of what I was doing and offered the
flower and sprigs. Where to place them? All of them?
Where does one dump the water? Does one sprinkle the
water or pour the water? As I rose up from my kneel,
I realized I hadn’t even thought about the prayer
part. “Oh, Can you look in on my brother? I think he
could use some help. And my cousin too”.
I felt like I was making a wish after I had already
blown out all the candles. Got all the way up here and
blew the prayer by saying it after my whole offering
thing. Like talking to at a phone after you have hung
up.
I can’t say I blended in. Being the only foreigner in
sight, but no one was paying any attention to my
actions. No one stood up and said, “This woman is a
fake! She disrespectfully placed Shiva’s favorite
flower at the left of the altar and did so before the
water sprinkling part.”
We went along to the other statues and distributed
more of the offerings.
But all I could think of was 40,000 people a day and
40,000 plastic cups a day and 40,000 incense wrappers
a day, etc. where do they go? Looking down the edge of
an embankment I saw where some of it went.
We wandered a bit through the market stalls and made
our way back to the Ambassador. Easily 300 flies arose
from the interior of the car when we climbed in. We
drove off with about 50 stragglers to keep us company.
Descending the hill I felt relieved to be going back.
Actually, I was in the midst of an awful cold. I felt
submerged in sinus land.
I looked to Rajee to see if she was feeling an after
glow from her visit with Shiva. She looked unchanged.
What was I expecting?
The driver was going to stop at the waterfall on the
way down in consolation as to not being able to drive
further up to Parvati’s temple. This sounded good to
me.
I concentrated on getting pictures of the landscape
moving before us.
We soon slowed to a jeep in front of us.
Two girls on the verge of womanhood were leaning out
of the back open window. Their long bangled arms were
clutching the frame of the jeep to steady their bodies
in this awkward position. They were dressed in the
happy bright colors of India, fuchsia pink and orange
sun fire silks. Their hair was coiffed back and each
one clutched their chests and held expressions of
misery as large chunky snakes of yellow daal issued
forth from both of their mouths.
I imagined Rajee explaining the deity I saw before me,
“This is Barfashi. She has two heads and four arms and
loves pink and orange. The yellow snakes come out
every Monday evening to hunt for marigolds on the
temples roads”.
Wow! , I said, what are the chances of two people
being sick completely simultaneously. They obviously
ate the exact same thing.” I craned my neck forward
for a better look and unconsciously began to search
for my camera. Look! Their gags are totally in sync
with each other’s. That’s amazing! They’re even
barfing the same amounts!
The driver had had enough of this vista and decided
with a quick jerk to pass them on the edge side of the
road. When I realized what his plan was, I began to
emit squeaks of horror. No! No! No! They came out as
strangled little dream screams. My voice was barely
there from my head cold.
Rajee threw her head back and laughed while we cleared
the jeep, inches from the outside roads edge.
Finally, safely passed I offered a weak chuckle and
collapsed back in my seat. I just missed one of the
rarest photo opts in the world.
We came upon the waterfall and pulled in to witness
the emerald green waters cascading from maiden fern
covered boulders. To the right the twin headed snake
goddess drove by eyes aglow in a fresh heave of
misery. I watched the chariot get smaller and smaller
as I fumbled once more for my camera.
Later that evening I struggled to make sense of the
day with Rajee.
I don’t know…I guess I have a hard time getting past
what happens to all those cups. Rajee handed back yet
another beatific smile.
“Paula, what do you want in this life? What does
anyone want in this life but a little peace? A little
peace and some happiness. That’s all I want. I want…to
be a flower at my Lords feet. If I could be that, I
know I would be so happy. That is all I want in this
life.”
Rajee has a firm grip on passion. She welds it with a
certain expertise that mystifies me. I myself can’t
muster a spec of excitement about the prospect of
being a flower at my Lords feet.
“But what does happen to all those cups?”
“Paula!”
“Okay, I mean…I don’t know, I guess I felt like I was
missing out on a feeling. I even felt like a bit of a
fake. But I don’t even know these stories”….. I
thought some more and Rajee shook her head.
“I mean…a lot of those people though, they looked like
they were just going through the motions. They came
all that way and they look like they were running
through the whole blessing thing. They looked vacant
and like they were hurrying through. But …. I
thought, well, okay, okay, I found something to wrap
my mind around, “I mean, we have communion. It’s a
ritual and people sometimes look like they are half
asleep during it. Some of the men look as though they
are already thinking about Sunday football. “
Rajee continued to shake her head.
“ And yet they came all that way to… ‘What? You don’t
agree? Why are you shaking your head?
“Oh, I’m sorry it’s a bad habit, I’m sorry. I’m not
saying no. I’m agreeing with you.”
“Oh. You always do that? Then you must get this all
the time.”
“What?”
“People asking why you’re shaking your head no, when
you mean yes.”
“No.”
No? No one says anything?”
“No, no one ever has.”
“...Am I the only one who ever said anything about
it.”
“Yes.”
“…. Well, then why would you say it was a bad habit?”
“Paula! Please, forget this! Go back to what we were
talking about!”
“Well! Oh okay, so, anyway, I get it. It gives them
peace. How long does this peace last?”
What?
Well, church meets once a week so you get communion
once a week. So every week your sins are forgiven. I
don’t know, maybe God figured people need a once a
week cleaning. . Or people did.
Rajee continued to shake her head and I began to think
that this shake meant, No more, please no more! The
direction of my desperately groping mind was making me
wince.
“I don’t know this communion thing your talking about
and I don’t know how often people go up to visit
Shiva. Sometimes once a year, sometimes not at all.
Its up to their heart and their relationship with
Shiva. You know Paula, that old baba we saw on the
side of the road building the brick altar.”
I nodded. We had stopped to ask him directions. He
looked to be easily in his 80’s emaciated, wearing
nothing but a loincloth and raggedy turban. He was
slowly building up a small wall with brick and mortar
along the side of the road on the gorge’s edge.
“That old man, loves his goddess so much. Think of it.
She must be all he thinks about. He has no money. He
can’t afford a rickshaw to get him up to that site.
(It was about 15 kms up from town). He hand carries
each one of those bricks and the sack of mortar and
water for mixing it, all by him. How many bricks can
he carry each day? All of his money that he manages to
come by goes to buying the bricks. He does all of
this, for the love of his goddess. He loves her sooo
much. (Rajee says “Sooooo”, like she is doing the
shivers.)
And he didn’t ask me for rupees. (He had actually
given us each some of the sugar candy from the altar)
He didn’t ask me for anything. And you know, I could
easily give him a thousand rupees but I wouldn’t. You
saw me give him some rupees but he didn’t ask for
them. I gave him 10 and you know, I wouldn’t give him
more than 20. This task that he is on is to show his
love for the goddess. He loves all of it. If I gave
him a thousand he could finish the job in one day. No,
I wouldn’t give him more than 20 rupees.
Hmm. Ever so slowly India was beginning to make a
little sense to me.
So the dirt, the grime, the flies, the trash, the long
journey, the labor, none of it matters. Just the
devotion.
Rajee told me about a shrine down in the southern area
of India. This shrine attracts 1.2 million visitors a
day. “A day Paula, a day!”
“I don’t believe it”, I said.
“Its true.”
“Well… I don’t believe it.”
Rajee threw me another beatific smile.
I tried not to think of all the cups and smiled back.
