1
The composition of this publication having been undertaken with a view to the information of those persons who have never visited India . . . it must be recollected . . . how impossible it is to describe so vast and populous a country in a small compass, or by a few general phrases, none of which applies universally, for unless the information conveyed has distinct and local reference, it leaves no definite impression on the mind. . . . Conciseness has been . . . aimed at, but probably the reader . . . will think with doubtful success . . . . It is obvious . . . that satisfactory delineation of so immense an empire must be the result of a progressive accumulation of facts on the precision of which reliance can be placed, and that acquiescence in the prior details of accidental travelers tends to perpetuate error. . . .
We leave by bus for Tandarai, the mid-morning sun already more than ample. Our destination: Wilson’s parents’ home, in the village, 10 kilometers from Chingleput, where he was raised, and to which he returns with money once a month. Even windowless the crowded bus is hot, though the novelty of the landscape, the prospect of arrival, makes the time pass quickly. At Chingleput we stop for lunch ─ curried rice and soft drinks, parched by the bus ride.
Here we decide upon an extravagance: a 30-rupee rickshaw ride from Chingleput to the village, which is set back several miles from the road. Not a bad decision. The path from road to village under construction, the “auto” bumps along over merciless chunks of granite as yet unassimilated by the soil. We have 2 drivers, older and younger brother, all of 15 and 12. They take punishment to machine and body without protest.
The village welcomes us. Luckily we must penetrate no farther than the first half dozen huts to reach Wilson’s home, for here everyone comes out to see the stranger. Before 15 minutes have passed he sits to an audience of a dozen urchins, half a dozen siblings and cousins, 3 or 4 mothers, a grandfather, grandmother, aunts, uncles. He decides it best to proceed by learning as many names as possible:
─ Satya, her hand before her mouth from bashfulness; uncovered, a smile: her baby teeth include 3 or 4 decayed stumps. But her gorgeous black-brown hair is held in a bright ribbon, her arms now akimbo with amused impertinence, her little belly bulging.
─ Anjya, her playmate, also darling, also shy.
─ Magaishwari, third of a threesome, hiding her face in her skirts. The little boys step closer. Two or 3 have eyes nearly closed shut with conjunctivitis. They prance about, laugh, smile at the stranger, who is learning their difficult names: Pailavanam, Vaisantakumar, etc. Before long the name game has exhausted its potential. Tricks with coins the next resource. All are delighted, properly mystified. As the antics continue, the stranger senses a presence at his side: Wilson’s 10-year-old cousin, 1-year-old sister on her hip. Pensively she gazes into the stranger’s face, her well-deep chestnut eyes arresting him. She brushes her hair aside and smiles, revealing 2 new front teeth. “Her name?” the stranger asks. Manormani.
Before long a walk is proposed, partly as escape. Out to the Hindu shrine, across the lane from the protestant church. Five minutes pass and the children reappear, now though pursuing their own games, the boys rigorously excluding the girls from theirs. All against the slant of a yellow afternoon light, illuminating a backdrop of brilliant green paddies, even brighter pale green patches of seedlings. A girl in magenta sari, yellow top, long black braided tresses, plies her silhouetted way along elevated path, copper drinking vessel balanced atop her head, to water her youthful husband, brother-in-law, cousin. White bullocks in a nearby paddy struggle under the miry plough, serene granite outcrop behind them. Above, a sky streaked suddenly in salmon as dusk approaches.
With the coming of evening, preparation for dinner, served at 8:00 o’clock. The honored guest and his friend are assigned to a separate hut where, mats spread, they sit on the floor side by side to be served by the sisters a sumptuous repast: chicken, mutton, lobster; a variety of vegetables (even a fresh tomato, brought from the market at Chingleput). Dinner finished, another session of townsfolk visitation. Out of the dark a woman appears to perform the ritual Asiatic investigation. Where is he from? How old is he? (She herself in her late 60s.) Where is his family? Wilson skillfully dodges the question of divorce. Will he take you back to America? “I will take you all,” say I, to a hearty round of laughter. Sensing a turn in her inquisitorial fortunes, she parries with a request that I at least take a baby. “I have no wife to care for it.” Nods of approval as the words reach the audience through translation. Politely the elders redirect her attention.
The huts opposite, geese and goats returned to the courtyard, recede into silent darkness. No candle burns. It is 10:00 o’clock. Mats are laid on cement porch, 3 feet beneath a heavy thatch. Within, by the light of a single wick, the new baby, having awakened, is offered for the visitor’s inspection. Then sleep. Next door at 11:00 a marital argument briefly flares. At 4:00 the wailing of a crazed woman, her husband lost a year ago, commences again. In the interval only the stars above, the shuffle of goats in the courtyard, the passage of a dog, the mosquito’s whine.
Dawn, and the evening processes reverse themselves: geese marched back to the field, goats out of the courtyard (and, to a flurry of shouts, out of the house as well). The mat is rerolled. Skies that were dusky are dusky again, bullocks across the way again visible.
Before long a cup of tea makes its appearance. The children reassemble ─ a diminished rout, their numbers, however, swollen by an influx of new elders (the rest of the village now informed). Much mutual gesturing betwixt this Tamil-less stranger and these English-less natives.
Farewells said (or implied), we are off at 7:00 across fields to the main road ─ sun arisen at 6:00 ─ already breaking a sweat. Daintily we dance along the margins of flooded paddies.
Soon we ascend, Wilson, cousin and I, an early Sunday bus and sway into Tirukkalikundram, its 3 stately gopurams standing in mid-morning haze, ignored by the cousins. Together in a stall we have coffee. By the roadside again, awaiting our connection, I study the dexterous fingers of matrons stringing jasmine skeins for the black braids of damsels. The bus arrives; we manage seats. Within another mile the aisles are packed. At my elbow, 3 lithe creatures, of 14, 15, 16. The first wears a silver nose pin, white flowers in her hair. The raven braids of the second are tied with a black bow. Into hers the last has woven yellow daisies. From the bar overhead descend at a graceful angle 3 braceleted arms.
*
“Thirukkalikundram, otherwise known as ‘Pakshi Theertham,’ is one of the most famous pilgrim centers of South India. It is on the bus route connecting Chingalpattu and the historical place called Mamallapuram.
“There are four hills in Thirukkalikundram, which, according to tradition, represent the four Vedas. On the top of one is built a shrine dedicated to Sri Vedagiri Swarar. The ascent is a steep one. Tamil saints hold the hills so sacred that they refuse to lay a foot upon them, instead singing songs from below in praise of the Lord. . . .
“Two sacred eagles visit the temple at about mid-day. Sons of Brahmaputra, they belong to the Hindu trinity. Cursed by Lord Shiva, they were once transformed into eagles for the sins that they had committed. Begging the Lord’s compassion, they prayed that they might regain their status as sons of Brahma. Whereupon an over-compassionate Shiva proclaimed that should they worship Him at the said hills every day till the end of the Kaliyuga they might regain their original form. Pilgrims make it a point to gather at the summit, eagerly awaiting the arrival of these birds, which perch on a rock specially reserved for them. Jaggery, ghee and rice are cooked with prasadam, and a quantity of sugar rice is offered to each. The eagles partake of the offering and depart.
“There exists in the town a big tank known as Sangu Theertham, from which water is taken to serve as an Abishekan to the deities. Its name derives from the fact that once in twelve years a Sangu or Conch comes and hovers over the tank’s surface. Recently, on 4.5.86, one such conch arrived and was transported with honors to the sanctum.
*
PONDICHERRY. A city on the sea coast of the Carnatic, once the most splendid European settlement in India but greatly reduced by its subsequent misfortunes. 85 miles S. by W. from Madras, it stands on a sandy plain not far from the sea shore. Its scant produce of palm trees, millet and a few herbs is augmented by some cotton and a little rice from the surrounding district. Upon the whole, however, it is better situated than Madras, as during the S. W. monsoon, which is the season of naval warfare, it is to windward, an advantage the French experienced the benefit of during the hard contested wars of the last century.
T.T.C. (Thiruvalluvar Transportation Corporation) bus, its destination only in Tamil, departs downtown streetside stand for Pondicherry, 3:00 pm, weather this November day unusually bright and cool for the 4-hour trip. Author takes window seat in windowless bus, glad to secure it, but without checking first to see whether this is the sunny or the shady side (it is the sunny, a factor that will figure in his impressions).
Laboriously we make our way out Mount Road, across the Adyar River, on whose ghats dhobis have spread laundry to dry, tortuously on past airport, stopping every half mile to board passengers, conductor rapidly enunciating destination (“Pondi Pondi Pondi Pondi Pondi”) for sake of the illiterate (a third of the general, probably over half of the bus-traveling, population). Seats quickly filled, aisles now are also packed, as we make our final stops on the outskirts of Madras, in villages, where vendors step to the windows with panniers of batter-fried sweets, tiffin, plastic bags of popcorn, peanuts. The sun, still high in the sky at the outset, has already sunk low enough to invade the coach.
Off again, we pass through consecutive villages, an increasing interval between them filled with flat grazing land, out of which suddenly rise small granite mountains. As we approach the confusion of each village, its thatched huts give way to concrete buildings, we dropping another passenger or 2, its concrete buildings giving way in turn to thatched huts, the latter thinning out, suddenly to disappear, as we reenter the bare landscape. The now slanting sun glares at the viewer, who welcomes the trees of the next village, through which it still pierces, until the larger huts begin, the 2-story concrete buildings complete, its interruption. The center of the little town is accordingly much cooler, though its street, into which porches encroach, is narrow, filled with dust, dung, the fumes of exhaust, as passing trucks downshift to avoid the bus, re-rev as they swerve alongside, belching a black, noxious farewell. Signs, building fronts, crowds of people; wares spread out on sidewalk; goat, calf, stray dog; bullocks pulling their ancient load; all blend in the rapidly-passing, intermittently sun-blinded, shade-engulfed phantasmagoria, punctuated with bus horn, blared music, shout of conductor.
At Madurantakam ─ no village, no town, but a small city in itself ─ we pause for 10 minutes. The route from Madras to Chingleput, already traversed on a trip to Mahabalipuram, holds few surprises. After Madurantakam, however, sights hitherto unseen: a landscape unfolding into vast openings of rice fields, variously, subtly colored; equally vast grazing plateaux. We are entering upon the sandy plain described by Hamilton. Rows of palm trees emerge, doubled in the middle ground, trebled by a farther row, before gentle hills begin to rise. The sun, now lowered to a foot above the horizon, is still bright but glows through a hazy medium, adding romantic aura to this “landscape of India,” its accompaniment of native music “soundtrack” promptly provided by the driver of the bus, who turns on stereo, as though the travelogue had finally begun in earnest. Farming villages emerge and recede at roadside, others glimpsed behind their groves farther off on the plain, a single electric line separating them in time from Pallava, Chola, Vijayanagar dynasties.
Sun now 6 inches above horizon, we stop in a small village to take on passengers. Three men dressed in white stand along the roadside to stare into the bus, 2 8-year-old girls, dark skirts, brightly-colored shirts, suddenly rendered speechless by the sight of a white man regarding them from the window above. Up a road perpendicular to the highway, leading into the center of the village, the backlit forms of women in saris, baskets on their heads, returning from the fields; boy in a turban driving before him a herd of water buffalo; an old man in white longhi, white shawl. We pause and depart.
And onward toward Pondicherry. “The war.” With that mindless, deliberate progress. “Which the British and French carried on in India.” That we hope/assume. “Had from the first.” Will carry us to our day’s destination. “Been truly a war of extermination.” At each stop. “The existence.” The villages grow duskier. “Of the two nations there.” Figures by the roadside illuminated by fire. “As independent rival powers.” As they crouch about braziers. “Was deemed impossible.” A couple says parting words. “And both therefore saw.” She standing at roadside. “That one or the other.” He at a window seat. “Must perish.” Her double gold nose pins in flared solar designs, as she unconsciously adjusts her sari, shakes her head in agreement with final instructions, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Accordingly.” Many stops punctuate the final 30 kilometers. “When Lally sailed from France.” It has now grown dark. “At the head of an expedition.” A fluent music. “That anticipated nothing but triumph.” Fills the inner space of the passengers as well as the bus interior. “He was instructed by his government.” We lurch ahead to its rhythms. “To destroy.” Halting suddenly. “Any British maritime possession in India.” To swerve from approaching truck. “That should fall into his hands.” To avoid the last homeward-bound flock of goats, a group of several cyclists, a cow inattentively crossing the road.
“These instructions were intercepted.” We approach Pondicherry. “And furnished.” Or it approaches us. “A plausible ground.” All at once. “For retaliating.” The town is upon us. “The barbarous policy which they enjoined.” A thickening of roadside traffic; lights ahead; signs to either side of the road ─ above more densely compacted stalls. “The Presidency of Madras therefore.” Fish spread on sidewalks, salted. “As soon as Pondicherry was delivered over.” Salt on sidewalk as well as fish. “Issued orders.” Vegetables. “For the demolition.” Displayed by the light of flickering lamps. “Of its fortifications.” Bicycle traffic. “And they were speedily obeyed.” Beginning to crowd the road. “And the citadel and all the other defences.” Which is now a city street. “Were converted into a heap of ruins.” In this metropolis of 600,000. (Quotations from Henry Beveridge, A Comprehensive History of India, 1862.)
Arriving at hotel exhausted and hungry, author finds dining room not yet open at this early hour (it is barely 7:00 pm); is directed to the bar, where, in the near dark, a brilliant kitchen window, filled with the flayed, reddened carcasses of tandoori chickens, provides the only illumination, except for the violent images of a biker movie, playing opposite on a silent VCR. Beneath the Confederate flag (displayed by black-clad villains), seated on barstool below, an old India hand, several beers down, in French-accented English, harasses 3 swarthy bar hands, who defer to his garrulous patter.
“Transformation is a big word. It is a goal for a series of steps that we have to take in our lives. And the first step that Mother expects us to take is to convert our daily life into the beginning of a divine life.” Pondicherry (ordinary) early-morning street scene. “Mother has not come to teach yoga as we normally understand it.” Sunlight from sun half an hour up. “She has not come with any philosophical doctrine.” Confronting cyclists on the way to work. “She has come with light.” Who trail behind them shadows. “With love.” Seven times their length. “With joy to beautify our lives” (Sri Aurobindo Ashram literature).
Traffic sparse: a 2-bull cart, ferny branches for cargo, driver glancing at foreigner seated at curbside; a pedi-cab, puller in red longhi, spitting as he passes; a pale green Lambrettist, his besaried girlfriend/wife seated side-saddle behind, examining contents of her handbag. While afoot: a mother in mauve, alizarin-trimmed half-sari; daughter, 15, taller than she, in patterned, ankle-length green dress.
Next door to author, 25-year-old woman, silver anklets, brown sari, hair as yet unbraided, exits house with large aluminum bucket; proceeds to splash water systematically on sidewalk; reaching the end, she throws the remains; returns into house for refill; back to sidewalk; returns into house, and to sidewalk again, where she again repeats the process, this time brushing with a broom. Now she reenters house to return with a blue plastic bowl; quickly but carefully pinching its powdered chalk, she designs 3 stars of David, centered with single swirls, in front of the door, to its left, to its right.
Across street, brilliantly colored sign of as-yet unopened rice depot: “P.M.N. Rice Merchant,” it says, in palest blue, gradated olive drop-shades, letters on a cream-colored ground. Beneath it another brilliantly colored sign, 8 feet by 16, all in Tamil: white-outlined 3-foot tall red letters, black drop-shades, a deep blue ground. Above and below them a yellow text, beneath which street address in black. Beneath that, a 5-year-old child returns from shopping errand, canister in hand, disappears through adjacent doorway. Before the sign at curbside, a scrawny, leafy tree catches the light.
Pondicherry morning view from tea stand interior: 10-year-old girl, yellow dress, pigtails tied in red bows, cycles to center of busy intersection, out of east-streaming light into sudden shade, turns right (author’s left), glances at tea-stall passing. Meanwhile, atop 3-story building, 100 yards distant, a woman in brown sari converses with woman in green, the 2 visible only from midriff up. Author seated mid-way back in tea stall, writing by reflected light, but a single neon bulb on the south wall. Building beyond 3-story building reads “VENUS LODGE.” Light fronts its dirty ocher stuccoed surface.
Northeastern quadrant of square filled with a row of pennons, each atop a natural wood pole. “The project referred to was suggested to the French ministry by Bernard François Mahé de la Bourdonnais.” Red gauzy P.C.I. flags, fluttering. “Usually designated for brevity as Labourdonnais.” (Parti Communiste Indien.) Each with a white hammer-and-sickle, single star. Behind them other flags, a garlanded gray schist statue. “When Labourdonnais arrived at his government in 1735 he found everything in confusion.” A quick glint of light off rear window, east-turning metropolitan bus. “The new governor at once saw the greatness and difficulty of the task which lay before him.” Jeep, bicycle hanging out its back door, follows. “And immediately commenced with characteristic energy.” At the entrance to the eastward-bound avenue, a large circular sign. “Ere long the face of matters was completely changed.” “HEAVY VEHICLES NOT ALLOWED.” “The kinds of cultivation best adapted for each island were rapidly extended.” White with red rim, a black bus depicted within, diagonal red bar crossing it. “New towns and villages arose.” Thin 30-year-old man, white shirt, black longhi, stands to one side of it. “Harbors not only capable of supplying the wants of commerce, but of furnishing a rendezvous for ships of war, were constructed and fortified.”
Author sits behind coffee-tea op, he silhouetted against morning-lit pale-green/cream-striped public building front. “Government.” Under his cauldron of boiling milk. “No more hampered by the selfish aims and unseemly quarrels of those who administered it.” A swirling yellow, blue-tinged flame. “Became regular and effective.” Left-handed he pours fresh water into boiling water-cauldron. Three 12-year-old barefoot boys stand by author, smiling as he writes. (Quotations from Henry Beveridge.)
“In the year 1742 the office of governor of the French settlements in India was conferred on Joseph Dupleix. The son of a wealthy farmer-general and a director of the company, he had at a comparatively early age obtained the appointment of first member of council at Pondicherry. After ten years’ service in this capacity, he was, in 1730, made head of the factory of Chandernagore. Here by engaging in private trade he accumulated a large fortune; and at the same time, by the ability of his public management, rose so high in the confidence of his employers, that in 1742, as already mentioned, they made him governor. Thus recalled to Pondicherry, he entered on the duties of his new station in the possession of very superior advantages.”
Pondicherry mid-afternoon view of (nearly) empty courtyard from hotel balcony. “To natural talents of a high order.” Oblique aspect of next-door theater, situated within courtyard. “He added a thorough acquaintance with the manners of the inhabitants.” Two servants lounge on the steps of the shady stair of the massive 3-story structure. Two girls, 13 and 10, have arrived to regard the times of shows and promotional photos. “And with the political circumstances of the country.” The older of the girls dazzling, as she traverses the plaza barefooted, hair loosened and caught in a single brooch, her light brown, white floral-patterned sari lifted by the breeze. “These advantages both vanity and ambition disposed him to improve in the utmost.” With eagerness she looks up at movie star (mustachioed, plump, in dark glasses). “He was no sooner installed in office.” And starlet (red lips, extravagant jewelry). “Than he began to entertain schemes with a view to the ultimate establishment.” The thirteen-year-old reporting, commentating what she sees to the even darker 10-year-old. “Of French ascendancy in the East.” The latter dressed in brilliant scarlet shirt, white half sari, blue skirt.
Through the gate a random street-scene visible: cyclists returning from lunch break; a turquoise scooter; empty pedi-cabs. A lumbering bus sways to a stop, disgorging 6 or 8 passengers, who gracefully float to the curb, dodging a team of high-legged Brahma bullocks to do so. A small crowd has gathered at the gate to the courtyard. An attendant arrives to open it. The crowd moves quickly toward the cinema front to queue for the 4:00 o’clock show. A mother with a 3-year-old in tow, a 2-year-old on her hip, in lively gossip with young sister, still younger cousin.
“During the heat of the quarrel between the two French governors, three ships of war, one of seventy-two, and two of forty guns, with 1,366 men on board, arrived at Pondicherry. Added to the force which Labourdonnais already possessed, they gave him such an ascendancy as placed all the other English settlements in India at this mercy. To all appearance nothing could now save Bombay and Calcutta from sharing the fate of Madras. And yet this petty quarrel saved them.”
Pondicherry late-afternoon view of main avenue from hotel corridor. Six auto-rickshaws lined up facing street, each in a slightly different yellow, all in black trim. A driver, sleeping in passenger compartment, awakens, emerges, yawns, exercising both arms in a windmill motion. “Trusting Dupleix faithfully to perform all the conditions of the capitulation.” A passing 4-year-old on up the sidewalk, 20 feet ahead of father. “On arriving at this place.” People passing in pairs. “He left as many soldiers and sailors as, with those previously there, amounted to 3,000 Europeans.”A tall man, a short one, both transporting blue plastic-covered folding chairs atop their heads. Two nearly identical girls in red saris, cycling past. “His whole fleet.” Handle-bar to handle-bar. “Consisted of only seven ships.” Six identical 6-year-olds. “Four of them in good, three of them in wretched conditions.” All in white blouses, blue skirts.
“On October 20th he set sail, intending with his fleet to proceed to Acheen.” Now a whole procession of girls. “But when at sea changed his intention.” All in brown pants, beige smocks, white scarves. “With regard to the three.” Some on bikes. “On finding that.” Some on foot. “Even if capable of reaching port.” In pairs. “They would prove.” In threesomes. “Unserviceable.” All beautiful, all lively. “And so steered with them directly.” Some talkative, some pensive. “For Maritius.” Some alone.
“He had quitted that island at the head of a powerful armament, with which he was confident of achieving glorious results.” A man in lemon shirt, white longhi, caught in the sunlight, a satchel in his hand. “How mortifying must have been.” A pedi-cab. “The contrast.” Green floor, pale blue uprights, red sides. “Presented by his return!” Pulled by a 60-year-old man.
“His misfortunes, however, were not yet ended.” Behind this passing scene the only-more-slowly passing facades of buildings. “For during his absence he had been superseded in this government.” “SOLIDAIRE TVS.” “And nothing remained for him but to return to Europe.” “UMA INDUS TIRES.” “Shorn of all his honors.” “VELMURUGAN ELECTRICALS.” “His homeward voyage was singularly unfortunate.” Behind and above these, on a third-story terrace, the thatched roof of an open-air restaurant. “After passing the Cape of Good Hope.” A waiter. “He narrowly escaped capture by British cruisers.” Placing red menus on tables. “And, having been obliged to part company with the other ships of his fleet.” Above and beyond the restaurant. “Arrived in the West Indies.” The spreading branches of palm, the pale ocean sky, the deeper blue above. “Here, as war was not yet declared between France and Holland, he took passage in a Dutch vessel, which touched at Falmouth.”
Following morning, author seeks tour of Sri Aurobindo Ashram, not knowing what to expect: monastery, museum, administrative institution? Anticipating exoticism he finds instead a page from the history of western devotionalism. In fact, most of the visitors to the ashram this morning are western (he has never before in India seen so many white people unofficially congregated): blissed-out adherents of “60’s thought”; “nice” girls in white saris; white-haired devotees of Meyer Baba, all seated or standing about the Master’s tomb in the central courtyard, whose space is draped above with blue cotton awnings, thereby increasing the eerie spiritual ambiance. “The officials there.” Soft-spoken, super-polite. “Probably acting on information given them.” Quietly authoritarian guides. “Recognized him.” Direct the visitor. “And he was carried to London.” Taking his money. “As a prisoner of war.” Including/excluding devotees as they see fit.
“The reception given him was equally honorable to himself and to those to whom he owed it. All classes vied in testifying respect and showing kindness, and when he expressed a wish to return to France, he found even among the directors of the Company on whom his skill and prowess had inflicted such heavy losses, a generous individual ready to become security for him to the whole amount of his fortune.” A tour of the opulent residence follows: mahogany, silk, fortunes of ivory, tiger skins, elegant knick-knacks. “The very idea of security, however, was scouted.” All in the reverently hushed spaces of audience-room, bedroom, parlor, throne room. “And his parole.” The whole pervaded by the odors of incense and freshly-cut petals. “Was at once declared sufficient.” Exquisite!
Late-morning Pondicherry roof-top view, Center of International Studies. “The short period during which he was less the prisoner than the guest of England was the last during which fortune may be said to have smiled upon him.” Q.: “At the same news conference you committed your government to pursuing a peaceful nuclear policy” (Indian Express, Tuesday, November 22, 1988). “So, if upon becoming Prime Minister you discover, as many in fact believe is the case, that Pakistan has or is developing a nuclear bomb, what will you do?” “The moment he reached his native shore her persecutions again commenced” (Beveridge). A.: “I have said again and again that we are only interested in developing nuclear power exclusively for peaceful purposes.” Glorious, slender 24-year-old servant, adjacent rooftop, pink-and-black underskirt, light purple gauze scarf, spreading grain from metal basin to dry on red tiled veranda. Q.: “So, will you scrap any nuclear arms program if you discover that Pakistan has embarked on one?” “He had performed services which entitled him to the highest honors his country could bestow.” A.: “We are committed to a peaceful nuclear program.” Servant descends outdoor stair to second-floor residence, its stairside courtyard filled with plants, blossoming in white, red, yellow. “And that is precisely what we will pursue.” “Instead of reward.” “When, not if, the People’s Party comes to power.” “Only a dungeon awaited him.” “Let me make it very clear that we do not want to make a bomb.” Q.: “What if you discover that India has a nuclear bomb?” A story below, on the asphalt street of this middle-class neighborhood, 2 barefoot boys play at a game of jacks. “And he was immured in the Bastille.” Improvising with stones and 2 20-paise aluminum coins. “On the 2nd of March, 1748.” Which they have placed within a chalk-drawn circle. A.: “That is a hypothetical question.” “Here he was left to pine away twenty-six months.” “And in that case we will have to review our position.” “Before he was allowed to communicate with the council.” “It would not be right for India to possess one, if it did.” In long salmon dress, black braid trailing behind her. “And for us not to.” A 12-year-old girl. “And though most of the charges against him carried their refutation along with them.” Her hands clasping together a shopping bag at the small of her back. “And the few which had any plausibility were proved to be groundless.” Traverses the empty lot between unfinished building and new pink-painted house to enter a village of slum huts. “Nonetheless three years elapsed before his acquittal was pronounced.” A pig pokes his head around the corner of one of the huts. Q.: “In which case you now also call upon the Prime Minister of India to publically renounce any nuclear arms development ambitions just as you have done?” “What could it now avail him?” A.: “Yes, indeed.” “The judicial murder had already been committed.” “And let me add that we are prepared.” Crow departs from author’s third-story perch. “To match them all the way.” Descends over palm and banana tree. “And to do the same thing they do.” “To bank in for landing on wall of the building under construction.” “After a short struggle with disease and poverty.” Within whose courtyard an old woman stoops to harvest a weed-like crop. “Death came to his relief.”
*
The objects unearthed at the protohistoric sites of the Indus valley appear to point to the prevalence of the cult of the Father-god and the Mother-goddess amongst the pre-Aryan peoples of Northwestern Bharatavarsa. Recent explorations and excavations have shown that the said protohistoric civilization spread its influence over considerable parts of Western India.
Severely eroded, only minimally productive, the land where Auroville was founded in 1968 was slowly dying. A few Aurovillians soon settled in different parts of the projected township area, creating communities like Forecomers, Fertile, and Kottaker, and starting experiments and research in land reclamation. Various approaches towards water conservation and afforestation have evolved over the years into a comprehensive program of environmental regeneration. The results of these efforts are here to be seen. In many places life is returning to the earth and green oases have formed.
Late-March early-morning Pondicherry outing to Auroville, humid roadside “auto” stop for gas (at Etablissement Patel). Huge red truck parked at station, yellow enamel front, driver cleaning inside of windshield. Gas attendant pouring oil into large gasoline beaker preparatory to fill. Green truck, yellow front arrival, 3 swarthy forms in cab. Indianoil pumps in red (“Petrol”), green (“Diesel”). Vikram Van (passenger trolley) stopping, red-white-and-blue stripe around its beige body. Early-morning mistiness, pre-8:00 o’clock sweat on wrist, as double white bullock cart passes, loaded with family, who regard author, as he sits, notebook open, in parked yellow “auto,” black lettering of whose passenger compartment reads “MINIMUM 2.00 ─ MAXIMUM 1.70.” Gas attendant, green longhi, beige-and-white-striped shirt, finally servicing “auto,” author’s page in lower reaches soaked with sweat run-off.
“I invite you to the great adventure.” Auroville Information Center arrival. “And in this adventure.” Signs reading: “?” (red on white ground). “You are not to repeat spiritually.” “Information” (white on blue ground). “What the others have done before us.” Four western girls seated on bench, apparently waiting for “Exhibition of Mother” (black on white) to open. “Because our adventure.” Now they are joined by a fifth girl. “Begins from beyond that state.” All are between 18 and 20; all are speaking English, though only 2 seem to be native speakers. “We are for a new creation.” French-speaking older woman arrives with her daughter. “Entirely new.” Chic little Parisian derrière (designer jeans). “Carrying in it all the unforeseen.” Sassy little pony-tail, flipping as she talks to 2 of the other girls in French. “All wishes.” Suddenly all are up and off. “All hazards.” Heading out, it would seem, to assume their teaching duties. “A true adventure.” A chirping flock of French and English voices. “Of which the goal is sure victory.” Too early to visit the Information Center. “But of which the way is unknown.” Author, Wilson, auto-rickshaw-wallah instead. “And has to be traced out step by step.” Circumambulate a group of buildings. “It is something.” Together peer into a large salle. “That has never been.” Apparently designed for architectural studies. “In the present universe.” Drafting tables, cardboard models. “And will never be.” But also equipment for modeling in clay. “In the same manner.” Easels for painting. “If that interests you.” Sun already too hot for comfort. “Well.” Threesome makes decision to depart. “Embark!” “Auto”-wallah explains general outline of Auroville. “What will happen tomorrow.” To Wilson, in Tamil. “I do not know.” Author catches drift. “You must leave behind whatever has been designed.” Threesome returning to “auto.” “Whatever has been built up.” Agree upon visitation plan. “And then march on.” Head off down gravelly, bumpy path. “Into the unknown.” Relieved by the breeze. “Come what may. ─ Mother.”
Early Calukyas of Badami are stated to have been nourished by the Seven Mothers described as Sapta-loka-matr, often interpreted as “The Mothers of the Seven Worlds.” . . . Although the number of the Divine Mothers is sometimes given as eight and sometimes also as nine and sixteen, originally the goddesses appear to have been counted as seven.
Approach to geodesic concrete meditational structure, up path barred to vehicles (“NO PICNICKING PAST THIS POINT”). Suddenly the landscape is transformed, from the scrubby, drought-ridden South Indian scene, through which for the past 45 minutes we have been walking and motoring, into a planned park. A hundred yards up the path we come upon an artificial rock garden, its forecourt lushly carpeted with grass, emerald in the 9:00 am sun. An attractive peasant girl, a miniature sickle in her hand, is weeding it on her knees. Another hundred yards and we reach what at first appears to be an amphitheater, but what our guide, in Tamil, describes as a decorative sculptural form (author’s free translation). Constructed of stone ranks faced with brick, it is 75 yards across, its circular floor descending, then gently re-ascending, from the structure’s navel, by way of a spiraling ramp, to a platform, some 75 feet across, out of which grows a brick tumulus, surmounted by an urn, upon which have been deposited, red and white flowers, as though in offering. The circular rim of the structure is surrounded, in a modulated terrain, by flowering bushes, carefully placed trees (or if not placed, at least carefully considered). Silent Indian groundsmen move through the landscape, tending it.
A reverse shot returns our eye up the entrance path to the rock garden with its brilliant patch of green. As author observes the scene, “auto”-wallah continues his explanatory discourse. Off to one side of the garden a single cow grazes. The attractive girl on bended knee continues to weed the sward. Male gardeners arrive and depart on bicycles, pausing beside their ambulatory co-workers to form conversational twosomes.
Author sitting, forecourt, geodesic structure, observing workmen sifting sand. “The symbolic structure.” Interrupted by Bihari tourist. “Of the Matrimandir” (“Mother”’s voice). One P.B. Roy. “Is utterly simple.” Who wishes to run down the Indian questionnaire for foreigners: “Where are you coming from? How long are you being here? You are living where?” As he does so the sand-sifters finish their stint and escape. Author stares off abstractly at Matrimandir, hoping that Mr. Roy will get the point. “Silence, white, the ray, the crystal globe.” Mr. Roy visited here 14 years ago, when the structure was just begun. “And the important thing is this:” Wishes author to tell him when it will be finished. “The play of the sun on the center.” Then wishes to explain to author what its function is. Author explains to Mr. Roy that he wishes to return to the task of describing. “Because that becomes the symbol.” The structure of the building. “The symbol of future realization.” In its present state of incompletion. “No images.” Mr. Roy apologizes. “No color.” For the interruption. “No organized meditation.” Rejoins the other drably clad members of his party. “No flower, no incense.” Who are standing to one side under large, black, opened umbrellas. “But most of all, no religion.” Observing the structure themselves. “No religious forms.” Conversing in light Hindi tones. “‘For heaven’s sake,’ said the Mother.” As they too. “Who conceived the Chamber of Silence.” Speculate upon it. “‘Let it not become a religion!’”
Work seems scarcely continuing on this large project, the voice of a tour guide almost dominating the sound of a single laborer tapping with a hammer to adjust a concrete form. As author writes, 2 of the sand-sifters return; peer one at a time into author’s notebook; step to one side to debate whether this be French or English. Author decides to write trial sentence: “THE OUTER GEODESIC DOME HAS BEEN COMPLETED.” Encourages sand-sifters to regard it. As they do so, 2 teenage Tamil girls of unearthly beauty, jasmine in their hair, descend the workmen’s ramp, pass under a sign reading “DO NOT ENTER CONSTRUCTION SITE,” re-ascend by wooden steps, disappearing into the structure. Wilson appears. Author informs him of what has just happened. Together they walk about the Matrimandir. No sign of the girls whatsoever. Defeated, overheated, they pause at tourist pavilion for “cool drink.”
“Indian tradition represents the great Mother Goddess (Adya Sakti) as bearing a very large number of names; but it has been suggested that they are not merely names of the same goddess worshipped by different tribes, worshipped in different parts of the country, but different goddesses, and that they were only afterwards identified with the Mother Goddess.”
─ adapted from D.C. Sircar, Studies, from which the following seven divinities:
(1) Brahmi or Brahamani. Photo-models, diagram of Matrimandir.
(2) Mahesvari. An enormous conceptual scheme of the whole site, including the amphitheater-like form already described.
(3) Kaumari. “Mother’s Agenda”; her “prodigious exploration of the body’s cellular consciousness.” (A photo above.) “Recorded by Satprem in thirteen volumes (‘This breath-taking narration of twenty-three years’ experimentation strikes deep into the discoveries of modern physics. Step by step we uncover what may well be Man’s passage to the next species on earth: How to change the law of death and the old genetic program of the cells?’).”
(4) Vaisnavi. INSTITUT DE RECHERCHES EVOLUTIVES, PARIS. Author seated, administrative pavilion. Servant woman, blue choli, yellow outer garment, moves quickly past to draw drinking water from canister. Silently a second figure (male) enters “Staff Only” section to place large flowers on a hanging, star-shaped altar.
(5) Varahi. Author, wafted by gentle breeze, seated in shade of enormous spreading banyan tree, groundskeepers’ voices bounding back and forth across 50-yard-diameter circle of monolithic benches that rings the tree. Within, 2 more figures, with long iron rods, spear leaves of the tree one by one, stacking their yellow yield into tall sandwiches preparatory to transfer into small wicker basket. The male is dressed in green plaid shirt, green longhi, bound up over his skinny legs. The female in lively multicolored arrangement (sari, sash, choli): cream/carmine, light blue, turquoise. Both are dark-skinned, the girl especially black, especially beautiful. Ringing the whole composition, another lawn of well-kept Bermuda grass, closely trimmed and edged. Under the tree a wooden ladder ascends to a branch, where a platform has been built ─ for meditation/observation. Past the banyan circumference, across the sunlit veldt traversed to reach this stage, can be seen, through the leaves of the tree itself, the completing form of the Matrimandir, sunlight passing through its open structure.
(6) Indrani, Aindri or Mahendri. Author brushing petals off single concrete seat at outdoor table of residential dorm, earlier-swept floor of whose courtyard is drenched in the odor of/covered with the yellow forms of blossoms. Within his compass: the neem, the frangipani, the feathery casuarina adorn the shaded court, inhabited as well by potted cacti, ferns, avocados; too many potted succulents to enumerate. The dorm itself is painted in cream, from whose entranceway now issue “auto”-wallah, Wilson, on return from exploratory foray. “She’s gorgeous,” says Wilson (of some 20-year-old French or Italian or English girl he’s seen within). “Oh, it’s 9:30,” he says, taking a seat. “We should go back to the Information Center and look for gorgeous girls. Sometimes I think nothing can compensate for just meeting gorgeous girls.” As author continues to write, a golden yellow blossom drops from the branch above onto his notebook page, so vivid in its saturation, so delicious in its interplay of reddened stamen, saffron cup, as almost to defy description. The breeze continues to blow, cooling the terrace. “I’m getting bored,” says Wilson, folding his arms, putting his head atop them, on the surface of the concrete table. The overhanging branches part in the breeze, releasing a shaft of light onto the blossom, which still rests at the top of the notebook page. A moped approaches along a path at the rear of the dorm, continues on, its purr-hum increasing, decreasing as it negotiates the sinuous pathways of the surrounding landscape. From within, the sounds of cooking, the splashing of water on tiles. “Auto”-wallah, keys atop table in departure-readiness/expectancy, looks up at author from nearby bench.
Brief stopover, Ami, computer electronics shop, abuzz with quiet activity, blue and red dairy crates stacked on porch, dusty red dirt beyond. Author recalling scene as he sits in shade at off-road restaurant, Wilson engaging French waitress at bar in conversation, where he and “auto”-wallah sit drinking “Winners.” French woman asking “Are you married?”
(7) Camunda. New Creation itself. Author seated in grass with ring of 4-year-olds, half a dozen of whom begin to observe his activity. Their teachers now, in disciplinary move, call them back to attention. Children, back in line, still looking over their shoulders into his notebook. “French-a? English-a?” they ask one another. Now recess has broken out. They have finished their metal cups of milk, their bread and butter, and their teachers allow them to gather in groups of play. Half a dozen little girls, flowered tops, flowered skirts, join author to tell him their names. They all have flowers in their hair. They gesture, shout, tell him not only their own names but the names of all their playmates as well: Maheswari, Yelassi, Usha, Selvi, Sadha. The little boys join in: Suresh, Raja, Ramamurthi. Called away, one darling little girl is left behind, reclining in the grass, a yellow daisy in her brown-black locks.
Author seated, interior of open classroom, surrounded by children as he writes, all of whom want to show him their works of art, displayed on the wall above. Author up to examine: Selvi’s abstract openfield depiction of nature, Ganesh’s large blue-outlined forms, their interior spaces filled with red-lettered signs on yellow ground, Ramamurthi’s heavily-saturated, massive composition.
Teachers, returning from break, enter classroom, gather up children for the next stage of activity. Author quickly up for departure, remounts “auto” for 10-kilometer return to Pondicherry, through continuous residential emergence: rural thatched huts giving way to concrete structures, concrete huts to 2-story buildings, 2-stories to 3-stories to larger urban blocks.
*
Kanchipuram, Tandarai, Chingleput, Mahabalipuram outing, early spring. Author accompanied by son Jacob, friend Debashis, and business associate Wilson, along with driver of rented white Ambassador for journey south.
Somaskanda. A beautiful and realistic version of Truth, Beauty and Love in the image of Somaskanda has been summarized by Manikavasakar in his Tiruvasakan verses. It is a condensed version of the Truth in the greatest poetic hymn. It emphasizes the conception of God for those who cannot conceive God or understand the transcendence of Lord Siva, who links himself to man. For man may approach him through Love. In the manifestation of nature, performance and the resultant beauty, Somaskanda connotes three phases, viz. transcendence ─ Siva, immanence ─ Sakthi, and appearance ─ Murugan. Among all the meaningful values of the super-organic world, there is the integral value ─ the veritable summum bonum. Hence Somaskanda represents: the indivisible unity of truth ─ Siva; goodness ─ Sakthi; and beauty ─ Murugan.
First early morning stop in Walajabad. Dark 10-year-old waiters, barefoot, in author observation. Livid green walls, white chalk graffiti in Tamil. Black calendar, image of Venkateswara (the black god) gracing it. The restaurant is suddenly calm. Boys clearing poori plates. On walls above: photos of owner, more gods with jasmine skein draped over them, pale green light bulbs illuminating the images. “Vinayagar, the elephant-faced god, is otherwise known as Ganesa, Ganapati, Vigneswara, and more popularly as Pillaiyar (the ‘great child’) in Tamil Nadu.” Restaurateur, unshaven, standing over author, dressed in longhi. “He is the first of two sons of Siva and Parvati, the other being Subramanya or Murugan.” Vandana Real Estates calendar in yellow on carmine ground. “Vigneswara.” Sundays in carmine, ordinary days of the week in black. “Is the remover of all obstacles in ordinary life, the embodiment of wisdom and might.” Restaurateur, arms folded, hawking/spitting. “At the commencement of any undertaking the orthodox Hindu of any persuasion offers prayers to the deity to bless him with success.”
Turbaned, skinny patron, legs tied into rungs of chair, finishes poori, starts coffee. “Ganesa.” Enormous brass water vessel supported by tripod. “Corresponding to Agni-Brihaspati.” Clock striking 9:00. “Lord of Hosts” (i.e. of the Mruts, the Breath, the power of the Soul). Clock’s hands showing 8:57. “In the Rg Veda.” Turbaned patron. “And Skanda.” Up to wash eating hand. “Represent respectively the Sacerdotium (brahma) and Regnum (ksatra), and the “hosts” of the Commons (visa).” Garland of nearly desiccated flowers over entrance to kitchen. “Ganesa’s elephant’s head corresponds to the ‘elephantine glory’ (hasti varcas) attributed to the Sun and to Brihaspati in the Atharva Veda.” Sound of motor scooters’ squeaking buzzers in the street outside, beyond a turquoise barred window. “Thus Ganesa is not, as often stated, a concept of popular origin.” Obscene blast of bus horn. “But of hieratic origin.” As its cream-and-orange form rumbles into town.
Popular image of Lakshmi, also on calendar, yellow on black. Three waiters, 9, 10, 11, attending to recently arrived patrons, one of whom opens Tamil paper. “Subrahmanya.” Restaurateur now seats himself before a metal plate of paroda, pungal. “Son of Siva and Parvati.” Mother and daughter enter, in lavender, mauve-pink saris, gently order idlis. “Is the most popular and adored deity of the south.” “SUNLIGHT” detergent ad on wall behind them. “Su” means happily wedded to “brahma gnana” ─ the knowledge of the supreme being.” Building fronts across street, seen through open door in ocher, pale blue, acidic green; white, yellow, pink. “Brahmanya” means one who tends to the spiritual growth of the aspirant.” Signs reading “Citizen Tailors,” “Central Cooperative Bank,” “K.B. Raj Building.” “Thus the special feature of the worship of Subramanya insures that the devotee will be endowed with the super divine knowledge of gnana. Wilson, Debashis, Jacob finishing their breakfast. “According to the legends, the one taught the spiritual truth even to his father.”
Arrival at Kanchipuram. “Nandi.” “Sri Rama Lodge” sign in-lit burgundy. Elephant, face marked in white and red, moving up street, joined by a second in beige blanket; people crowding forward; parasolled display of divinity in succession. “It is obligatory for every Siva temple to install a Nandi image before the god in the reclining form of a bull.” Large gravel truck, 4 laborers atop it, in pink, lime tee-shirts, white muscle-shirt. “Because of his association with spiritual wisdom he is given the honorable title of ‘Iswara’ and called Nandikeswara.” Beggar woman in torn beige sari working on author as he writes. “Some scholars think the evolution of religion began with two aspects.” Trucks entering scene. “Hero-worship on the one side.” Turning in direction opposite religious procession. “On the other, element worship.” Another truck with “Sri Ganesa” on windshield. “The hero-worshippers have regarded the bull ─ the earliest animal to have been domesticated ─ with great respect, and adopted it as an outward symbol of an unseen, intimate relationship with Siva.” Three motorcycles, red, white, and black, weave quickly in and out of religious procession. “While the swift-moving horse as the emblem of those who were element worshippers.” Central image of the god approaching on platform, priest surrounding it, the canopy shaking. “The totemic emblem ─ the Bull ─ has thus survived the ages to become the sacred vehicle of Siva.” People shouting as the image passes.
Ekambarashwara Temple interior, Kanchipuram, courtyard scene, women selling puffed rice for feeding of fish in large tank, down whose steps a white-clad form moves on silent feet to bathe. Floor of temple court filled with families. “In the earliest pre-figuration in South India Siva is himself a hunter.” Against one of the blue enamel painted columns, the shrouded figure of a female divinity in bright yellow wrap. “And is the father of Murugan, the revered hunter of the mountainous country (kurinji). Jacob and entourage circulating barefooted, behind them a sign in red: “Devasthana Pahsatnams / Sold Here”; a message in Tamil (blue), another in a second Indian language (green).
“The Dravidian languages can be divided into three major groups, viz., (1) The Northern Dravidian, represented by Brahui, spoken in Baluchistan, now a part of Pakistan; Kudu, spoken in Madhya Pradesh; and Malto, spoken on the borders of Orissa and Bengal, (2) The Central Dravidian, consisting of a number of languages like Kolami, Parji, Naiki, Konda, Gondi, Kui, Kuwi, Gadaba, and the recently discovered Pengo, (3) The Southern Dravidian, consisting of Tamil, Kannada, Malayalam, Toda, Badaga, Tulu, Kodagu, Irula, etc. The Southern Dravidian should be divided into two groups: (a) those coming from the proto-Kannada and (b) those from the proto-Tamil-Malayalam” (T.P. Meenakshisundaram, Tamil: A Bird’s Eye View).
Mango tree courtyard, Ekambaraswara Temple, devotee cracking coconuts on steps before tree-encircling shrine, purple silk sari gold-inwoven, orange choli. “He is referred to as the Periyou (Grand Sire) in early Tamil literature.” A family of 3 young girls with mother arrives. “Saivaite hymns and literature claim him.” Mother in pink. “As the exclusive god of the Tamils.” Daughters in yellow, orange, and red. “And the Lord of all Countries.” They stand on the busy steps of the shrine’s entrance, waiting to enter. “He is not a deity of destruction alone as conceived later on.” Its walls in light turquoise, blackened by the hands of devotees. “But rather a god of love.” Murugan on his peacock vehicle occupies a niche to the right. “Of benignity.” Ganesh, another to the left. “And solace to humanity.” Girl in gold dress, limping, exits; beads author; passes on out of precinct.
Others down steps, out into sunlit court, where a brisk gust of breeze sends leaves of the mango skittering. “He has five functions.” To one side, in the shadows, squat 2 boys, 11 and 12. “Sristi (Creation).” A fly settles briefly on author’s page. “Stithi (Preservation).” In yellow a Tamil inscription on the gray schist wall of the mango-tree enclosure. “Samhara (Dissolution).” Tamil voice of woman seated nearby, as she emphasizes a point with family members. “Tirobhara (Veiling and Rest).” Exiting, skinny early 20s devotees regard Nandi, make their namaste gesture. “Anugraha (final deliverance of the soul by his grace from all bondage).” Turn 180 degrees and pay final respects to the images of Ganesh, Murugan. “These are the functions attributed to him.” On the walls of the courtyard portico: electric-blue chalked Tamil versions of the Vedas. “According to the Saiva Siddhanta (Sudda-Advaita) school of the Tamils.” Two beautiful elderly women, hands on their knees as they mount steps, atop which author sits.
Ancient Pallava temple, outskirts of Kanchipuram. Two bullocks, curved, belled horns, both painted an elegant light blue, as cart they draw pauses before our white Ambassador. “The most important of the major Siva concepts is his portrayal as a Maha-yogi.” Author before temple, where new marble facing is in process of installation. “In the uninterrupted communion with his Self.” A weaver’s assistant from studio across street walks past, her dark green sari flapping in the breeze over brilliant magenta choli. “Or universal Soul.” The hem of her garment in gold.” As such, he is wisdom incarnate.” Meanwhile, a crew of laborers pokes with sharpened poles to loosen the dirt before the temple, no more than 2 of the 5 ever at work at any given moment. “The yogic pose in the form of Dakshinamurthi.” As author begins temple proper approach, 3 12-year-old girls in red, yellow, green kurta-pajamas pass (North Indian tourists). “Symbolizes the spiritual quest.” Author smiles. “And the conquest of the Self.” All 3 return his smile. “These constitute the very essence of Indian religious thought and practice” (quotations from The Bronzes of Tanjore).
Kanchipuram to Tandarai via Chingleput, for third Manoharan front-porch sit. “Two white people,” says Rajatelegu in Tamil, observing author, Jacob. Kids appearing from everywhere to observe white Ambassador. Magaishwari, Kalaichelvi, Manormani, the last-mentioned pulling her shirt on for the occasion. Uma, radiant, smiling. Ruth ─ Manormani’s younger sister ─ with a black bow in her hair. Five-year-old Suresh, leaning forward into notebook. Manormani reappearance, Richard ─ Wilson’s nephew, Prema’s son ─ on hip, the infant now nearly a year old.
Coconuts, tops scythed/sickled off, juice served, author, Jacob, Debashis, all partake. Prema, emerging from within the house, retrieves the recently christened Richard from Manormani, hands him over to Wilson. Frightened, the baby begins to cry. Meanwhile, Manormani, pink bow in hair, sits with Magaishwari, both regarding author/Jacob/Debashis (seated alongside one another), as porches of adjacent houses fill with more spectators.
Jacob out to car to return with package of sweets, brought for presentation. Wilson’s uncle joining author on porch, shoos children off it. But author invites them instead for ride in rented Ambassador. Asks that Wilson instruct chauffeur to make a loop to end of town and back. Car with 15 squealing passengers makes its initial tour. Meanwhile author invites remaining kids to inscribe their names in notebook: signatures by Vaisantakumar, Chandrasekar, Sivasankar, all laboriously produced, first in Tamil, then (by the learned) in Roman letters as well, illiterate children looking on with envy. Second auto tour organized, author ingests peanuts, coffee, coconut milk. A third car outing required, for those who missed the first 2. Author together in front seat with Manormani, who beats on dashboard, turns about to boss younger kids around.
Thirukkalikundram stopover, temple closed at mid-afternoon, author seated with back to red-and-white-painted wall, gazing at fence-enclosed Nandi. Above: a flaming passion tree with its red blossoms. “Siva is also the perennial fountain of music, from which innumerable streamlets of raga flow.” A young girl with a flute sits at the base of the tree, her long black hair braided, the tentative tones of her melody overborne by traffic noise. “Among the several aspects of this great god.” Her lithe limbs wrapped in a golden sari, she herself is lovely. “Siva is universally beloved as Kalyanasundaramurthi (the Lord of Beauty).” As author approaches tank, in the western confines of the temple complex, she moves to take a seat by its borders, where her new melody is gentler, more audible, serene.
“From time immemorial Tamil Nadu has nurtured the most varied and invigorating folk traditions in the domain of art and culture.” On the steps of the tank are bathers, emerging from their bath. A young boy, half naked, approaches author to request as a gift the pen with which he is writing. “Among the folk arts.” Disappointed, he walks down the steps and jumps once more into the tank from the second step. “Like Kaavadi Aatam, Karaga Aatam, Kolaatam.” Two more kids. “Like Kanian Aatam, Mayilaatam and Polykuthiraiaatam.” A boy of 8, a girl of 6, strip to their breech-strings and prepare for their swim too. “Villupaatu, literally bow-song, the robust narrative form of the extreme south of Tamil Nadu.” To the south, the sound of garments being slap-thudded on first and second steps of the ghat. “May be considered the gem.” As across the way an older man washes himself. “Though it is today performed in V.O.C., Nellai-Kattatomman, Kanyakumari and a portion of Kanarajar districts.” Seated sideways on the first waterside step. “Nanjilnadu, the nucleus of Kanyakumari district, can be described as the birthplace of this art.” A slight breeze picks up, rustling the leaves in the trees overhead. “It is popularly called “Nanjilnaattu Villuppaattu.”
The sun momentarily passes behind a cloud, only to return with renewed warmth. “Among the leading practitioners of the art in the first half of the present century.” To the southwest rises the third of the 3 towers, its upper reaches in golden sandstone, blackened where most exposed. “Were Thovalai Sundaram Pillai, Punarkulam Kolappa Pillai, and Kurunkulam Narayana Pillai.” Before it a double row of palms. “Thovalai Sundaram Pillai revolutionized Villuppaattu in several ways.” More rhythmic slapping begins as a male washer flings, then, 2-handed, pummels a large piece of cloth on the western steps. An 8-year-old boy enters the temple grounds, pushing before him a homemade toy: a half coconut on a long stick, the stick covered with empty cigarette packs. “There is a saying in Nanjilnaadu.” Precinct where author sits atop a free-standing rock filled with the odor of human feces, the ground covered with mess of weed, husk, stick, stone, piles of animal turds. “That ‘Sollukku Sundaram, villukku Kolappan and peikku Narayan.’” Still, through the palms, a view of gopuram that compensates for the squalor. “Which means ‘Sundaram is famous for his chaste Tamil.’” As author describes, 3 monkeys make their appearance. “‘Kolappan for his playing of Veesukol.’” Begin to scale the gopuram one by one. “‘And Narayanan for narrating the story of evil spirits.’” Again, 2 passing kids ask author for pen he is writing with. (Quotations from “The Musical Bow . . . Flexible Enough,” in The Hindu, July 30, 1988.)
*
What is that by knowing which everything in the universe is known? The Upanishadic thinkers realize the extremely subtle nature of the problem they have taken up. The sound of a drum seems to fill the air. It pervades the air with its resonance, and it seems utterly difficult to trace it to a particular location. Nevertheless, there must be a drum, the mystery of the whole as made resonant by unseen vibrations is solved.
Mahabalipuram street scene, 4:00 pm. “The surf here breaks far out over, the Brahmans inform you, the ruins of the city, which was incredibly large and magnificent.” Street so crowded by bus-boarders, getting past bus in car proves impossible. “Many of the masses.” Author descends. “Of stone.” To regard the great sculptural ensemble. “Near the shore.” Author now seated, wall south of Krishna Mandapa. “Appear to have been wrought.” View past postcard seller to more modern across-street temple. “A Brahman, about fifty years of age, a native of the place, informed me that his grandfather had frequently mentioned having seen the gilt tops of five pagodas in the surf, no longer visible.” Area sanded, marked off by yellow curbstones, to deter off-road, on-temple-site parking.
Eight-year-old approaches scribbling author with strings of beads for sale. “Yet if it be a fact, as mentioned by Bishop Heber.” “I have empty bag,” she says, no business, give me only one rupee.” “That the sea is receding from most other parts of the Coromandel Coast.” Krishna eternal, over author’s shoulder, surrounded with consorts, bull, cow, calf. “It is difficult to conceive why it should advance in this place.” Eight-year-old persistent, author purchases necklace. “Such a local encroachment could only be affected by a change in the position of the land.” Over-shoulder view of the sculpted elephants, their flanks streaked with rain run-off. A tan bull ambles up the street, followed by a brown-and-black goat. “As the primitive rocks here appear to be on the surface.” A large Zemes tourist bus arrives, its luggage rack filled with suitcases, covered by a green wrap. “This cannot be admitted as a probable occurrence.” “Arjuna’s Penance” more interesting than the scene of tourist reality.
Behind the 2 principal elephants, yet another smaller one, behind which the head of a fourth emerging above. Both are unusually plastic, almost malleable. The sound of rather raucous popular music starts suddenly from a loudspeaker at author’s back. A fly alights on his finger, moves to the black tip of white ballpoint pen, which continues to bob. Pairs of divine figures float above on a shelf surmounting the elephants. A head-shaven man, a turbaned man, both in white shirts, white, green-striped longhis, take seats on the wall beside author to muse upon/commentate the spectacle of the great relief. One of the 2 turns to author, asks question in Hindi. Bead-selling girl persists in sales approach, seeking from him a second purchase. “Siva and Parvati are the ideal couple, deeply devoted and loving.” A propos of nothing, she asks author if he knows “marriage.” “When they are represented together, the image is known as Alinganamurthi-Siva.”
The 8-year-old, Sumitra, is now joined by 2 of her young colleagues: Dana-Lakshmi and Mydili. “The marriage of Siva and Parvati.” Author and group of 3 young girls joined in turn by rout of lively South Indian women, who take it upon themselves to oversee author activity. “Is the grand epilogue in the serial of the story of Daksha yoga (Vedic sacrifice).” Over author’s other shoulder, carved in stone, one monkey treats a second monkey for lice-infestation. “In which the gods of the Vedic pantheon combined and plotted to belittle the supremacy of Siva.” Sumitra once more offers author one-rupee skein of beads, using her best ploy: “I waiting” (i.e. awaiting your decision). “It was in the legend that one of the five heads of Brahma.” Author’s offer of one-rupee-with-no-exchange-for-necklace refused, as Sumitra presents author with second necklace. “Was plucked off by Virabadra, the agent of Siva.” Sumitra, having returned, author gives her yet another rupee, in exchange for a third necklace. Author in final “Arjuna’s Penance” inspection, as single crow, down from heights, overflies a tree in brilliant foliage. Two cows, steadily progressing upstreet, pass author, study him, each using only one eye.
On our return I expressed to Mr. Braddock a desire that he should undertake a fuller account of the place, and suggested that it should combine the useful and entertaining properties of a Guide Book with the more important lucubrations of the scholar.
Five rathas observation, 5:00 pm, Debashis, ballpoint pen in shirt pocket, looking over author’s shoulder as he writes. “Braddock’s paper was scarcely completed.” Two Tamil young adults observing author, Debashis, now joined by 2 unrelated Indian children with their grandmother. “When the amiable and talented writer was hurried away by one of those rabid attacks which disease sometimes makes on European constitutions in this climate.” Tamil young adults in engagement/avoidance routine. “And so I myself was called on.” Author to base of free-standing stone elephant. “All but unexpectedly.” Popular music begins to blare in the background. “To perform the last sad office for one whom I had so recently seen usefully and actively employed.”
Nuclear family, with strong penchant for magenta, passing. Author examines inscriptions (in translation) from temple now devoted to Ganesha. Stream of author-regarding Indian tourists eastward along retaining wall. “(1) May the cause of creation, existence and destruction, which is itself without cause, the destroyer of Manmatha (desire), be propitious to the desires of the world.” Other Indians circulating within author’s reach, stepping up close for textual examination. “(2) May he who is united with Uma, of many kinds of illusion, without quality, the destroyer of evil dispositions, of incorruptible wealth, the Lord of Kubera, be counted excellent.” Family of 2 sisters, sister-in-law, husband of sister-in-law, their child, brother of the sisters. “(3) May he who bears Siva in his mind engrossed by devotion, and the earth on his shoulders, with as much ease as if it were an ornament, long prevail.” Little girl placed on back of stone lion, as older brother looks on. “(4) By that king of satisfied wishes, with crowds of conquered enemies, who is known by the name of Jayarana Stambha, this building was made.” Elegant 12-year-old, playing hide and seek, squats behind rock in her pink-and-blue patterned skirt, body top (in matching pink). Debashis returns: “So you’ve written a page.” Jacob a few steps behind: “Great stuff. Shake the world.” Black goat working on banana peel. Swallows it.
Mahabilipuram Pallava shore-side temple 5:30 pm inspection. Breeze off ocean picked up to strength of steady wind, tourist groups availing themselves of the cool ─ sun occluded ─ to stroll comfortably, as crippled boy moves among them on all fours, begging. “Chandrasekara.” Sighting author, he approaches. “The name means literally ‘wearer of the Moon.’” Followed by sea shell merchant, cobra-wallet seller, moonstone merchant. “Though the inclusion of the rising moon on the crown is an essential feature of any Siva image.” All very polite and charming. “The simplest image of the god in a straight pose (Samabhanga).” All trying to be friendly as well as commercial. “With the hands in a pose of abhaya.” Only one suspicious character. “Alone have been specially called Chandrasekaramurthi.” Alcohol on his breath. “Siva in this form is a popular image.” “I exchange money,” he says. The most beautiful of all, a thin, languorous girl of 20, excuses herself: she will leave author to write.
Author now alone, surrounded by the elements. “The rising moon.” Whitecaps begin far out, ruffling the surface 400 meters from shore. “Has been of great fascination from primitive times.” But barely bothering the gray-green slate elsewhere. “It has been given an honored place on the crown of Siva.” The wind gently buffets. “The moon god, we recall, who got in trouble with the other gods, was persecuted by them after the ‘Churning of the Ocean of Milk.’” Another solitary figure, amidst many family groups, arrives in a black hair net. “Helpless, the moon god found asylum in the person of Siva.” Seats himself on a stone nearby, removes his chappals and, with difficulty, turning his back to the shore, cupping his hands, manages to light a cigarette. “As a gesture of kindness Siva wore him on his crown. Accordingly, all the gods were required to bow before him. The wearing of the moon is therefore symbolic of the protection of the downtrodden by Siva.”
Among the legendary stories of the Hindus, several different accounts are given of Vishnu’s reasons for taking on himself the shape of a boar. Among others it is said that a Daitya, or evil spirit named Hiranyaksha, gained from Brahma by his scrupulous piety and the performance of penances of very great efficiency, a promise that he should have given to him anything he asked. Accordingly, he desired universal dominion and exemption from being hurt by the bite or power of any living creature. He enumerated all animals and venomous reptiles that bite or sting, except the boar, which was forgotten. His ambitious desires were no sooner obtained than he became exceedingly presumptuous, proud and wicked; and forgetting the great power of the gods, he ran away with the whole earth, and plunged it and himself into the depths of the sea!
What had been a breeze, then a light wind, has become a strong and steady on-shore force, waves white-capping out to half a mile, beginning their shoreward rush with some determination and finishing with controlled abandon. Jacob and Debashis, stripped to their underwear, are cresting the waves, as Wilson sits sullenly on a rock nearby. “This singular exploit made the interposition of the preserving power necessary.” A garland of jasmine has washed up at author’s feet, as he stands on the shore tempting the waves to touch his boots. “And Vishnu, changing himself into the form of a boar.” A wave washes it farther shoreward at mid-sentence. “Plunged into the ocean.” Jacob and Debashis, riding into shore on the crests of waves, return for more fun. “Fought a dreadful battle which lasted a thousand years.” The jasmine skein, compacted by the water’s force, lies at author’s feet, as though in dissolution-anticipation. Jacob shouts. “At length slew the impious Dartya.” Debashis responds. “Brought back the earth on his tusks.” Both together crest a new wave. “And restore it to its unusual good order, peace and tranquility.”
The wind has brought up a mistiness too, as surf engenders spray, thrusts itself shoreward, encroaching, retreating in a full-flooded backward activity. Waves breast into motion, overarch and fall, or sometimes crest, but withal force their way inland. As author writes, he must scamper backwards for refuge against the latest installment of progressing tide. Now another man, bag of peanuts in hand, is attracted to author’s page. “In the sculptural representation of the story, the artist has chosen the moment at which the boar-headed deity is solacing himself after a thousand years of toil.” Unable to make sense of it, he nonetheless studies the page carefully.
It will be observed that I have made the freest use of the accounts of other travelers: partly in order to present in a general view the remarks now scattered in half a dozen volumes, and partly in order to support by the authority of others the conclusions drawn in my own confessedly hasty visit. Had I only been as well acquainted at that time as I am now with the writings of my predecessors, I should have investigated far more closely several points that I now perceive with regret I almost overlooked.
On our return from Mahabalipuram we pass by the village from which Wilson’s mother had come, where there still reside several aunts and uncles. It is not especially near Tandarai ─ requires a change of bus, plus a long walk, to get there. Wilson once made the trip between villages, but only once.
His mother was a relative of his father, and so the marriage was arranged, the mother leaving home to take up residence in the village of the father, where Wilson’s uncle ─ the father of Manormani, Ruth, Rajatelegu ─ lives in the house behind. Unlike his mother, Wilson’s sister, Prema, stays at home after marriage, though her husband, a first cousin, resides at Thirukkalikundram. It is he who had left with us in the morning after our first visit to Tandarai, for his job at a tourist hotel in Mahabalipuram.
On the father’s side there are also aunts and uncles, more than one at Thirukkalikundram, more than one in Chingleput, a single uncle in Madras, whom Wilson only occasionally visits. For the resident of Chingleput, Madras is the far-off city, to be visited rarely, if at all.
Wilson’s own immediate family consists of: Shanti, an older sister who lives in Chingleput with her older child and brand new baby; Prema, still at home with Richard; and Kala, as yet unmarried, tending to Shanti, Prema’s second child, as her sister recovers from the birth. Then Vaisantakumar, Wilson’s 10-year-old brother, boss of the young kids, a reader of books, a scholar of Tamil and English. It will be towards his education that Wilson will have to save from his job at the American Consulate in Madras.
As for Wilson himself, who in his late teens took the first step out of Tandarai to Madras Christian College, in his early twenties from M. C. C. (accented on the first of the “C”s) to the American Consulate, before long he hopes to take the final mythical leap to America.
And the village? It will remain itself, a small town of almost 900 residents, a school, a new asphalt road, soon a bus stop, but with social institutions unlikely to change for generations, for centuries. Life will proceed at its leisurely, pleasant pace. How this graciousness arose, how it is maintained ─ amidst such exiguous circumstance ─ is by no means clear, for this Christianized community ─ half of its 150 families in the church’s congregation, cannot have derived its mores and ethos exclusively from Hindu tradition, and yet, one suspects, it is precisely from that tradition that its profound humanity springs.