A Pilgrim's Thoughts

[Guest guest]

For centuries hundreds and thousands of devotees have made their way to

Guruvayur temple and sought solace before the Lord, pouring out their hearts,

releasing pent up emotions and expressing their love for Guruvayurappan as they

gave thanks and made offerings for the blessings He has bestowed upon them. In

sublime poetry that will never be surpassed, the great Melputhur has expressed

the depths of his feelings for the Lord of Guruvayur. Poonthanam, in his own

way has echoed him. There is no dearth of material about people's feelings for

Guruvayurappan since every man and woman who comes before Him has a reaction

that is individual and deeply personal. In that I am no different. The

difficulty however is finding out how to write about the experience, of finding

a new angle, a new insight and new way of saying what has already been said so

many times.

 

 

 

All attempts to do this cause doubt and hesitation. Emotions and feelings about

the Lord well up and then subside, deflated by the knowledge of all those who

have preceded me. And then, strangely, it is in that thought that an idea comes

to me; the fact that every pilgrim, every devotee is like a grain of sand on an

endless beach. Collectively anonymous but still an essential part of the beach.

Suddenly I think of what it is like to make one's pradakshinams, to go round the

temple and if one's thoughts drift off in that direction to consider the

hundreds and millions of feet that have walked before one and will come behind

one. It is sobering, like realizing the smallness of a grain of sand. And yet,

it is in that thought that though I understand my insignificance I know that,

like the grain of sand belonging to the beach, I too am part of Guruvayur.

 

 

 

It seems these thoughts have taken hold of my mind and in my inner eye I am

again walking round the temple. My feet feel the smoothness of the stones, the

perfection of their angles, and how they have been cut to turn the corners. For

a moment I glance at the small, incised double square marking the spot where Adi

Sankaracharya landed from his celestial chariot. And so it is that in just a

few moments I have made a whole round and am struggling past the flag-mast,

jostling and straining to catch the sustaining flicker of the sanctum's lamps.

Then, once more, I am making another round.

 

 

 

Only now does the thought strike me that every round is the same, every step a

retracing of the previous round and that every time I am brought back to the

same spot. And it is there, by the flag-mast that I experience the same

yearning, a longing for even the briefest confirmation of the sanctum's divine

inhabitant. And yet, for all this awareness I also know that no two rounds are

ever the same. The starting point that one is brought back to is always

different, the way ahead always changing. It is like the sea, always in motion,

always following the dictates of the tides, the waves endlessly moving towards

and away from the beach. Always the same and always different.

 

 

 

Guruvayur is not a large and sprawling complex and yet it is extraordinary how

it's clearly defined space has so many moods and seasons. In a single round it

can change, the crowds of one round inexplicably evaporating on the next one.

The jostling before the flag-mast there and gone the next. The rolling bodies

of those doing sayana-pradakshinam blocking the pradakshina-vazhi on one round

and not to be seen on the next one.

 

 

 

As I pause and consider these thoughts I understand how often everything

changes. I see how the pre-dawn darkness lifts and the sun rises and pours it's

light down into the temple and then relentlessly, again like the sea,

effortlessly and endlessly bringing change to that which is unchanging. I watch

with my inner-eye, seeing how as the day begins sunlight fills the temple and

how it later beings to fade away as the day ends. I see the temple filling up

with devotees and being suddenly cleared of them for seeveli. I see elephants

and musicians accompanying the Lord around His temple.

 

 

 

And it is as seeveli occupies my mind that I now look at the procession more

carefully. I watch the elephant taking the Lord around His universe, I notice

the lips of the priest whispering ancient manthras and observe the ribbon of

devotees following behind, unfolding endlessly as their numbers swell. And I

join them, walking behind the elephant, stunned as always by the sense of

connection I feel. The tiniest grand of sand, the most insignificant of

devotees yet counting my blessings.

 

 

 

The day moves on, evening falls and the temple dances into a different light,

emotions welling as all hearts soar during deepardhana, a rite showing us the

Lord and confirming the power of fire of light even as the world slips into

night's darkness. The sun has made its passage around both the world and the

world that is the temple; devotees have unconsciously echoed it's journey and

soon the day has slipped away.

 

 

 

I now move invisibly through the day's concluding rituals, seeing once more how

the thousands of oil lamps around the temple spring magically alight as eager

devotees grab gratefully at the chance of lighting them. And I recall the

personal blessings I have experienced when it has been my privilege to do the

same and how the concentration of touching the flickering flame to the small

thiri intensifies the mind and reduces one's whole world to lighting one tiny

lamp for the Lord. I watch the Vilakku, the slow majesty of the five elephants

moving in a glow of light, of flaming pandams. I hear the plaintive nadaswaram

and wonder how each night it can be the same and yet every single night stir the

spirit as if for the first time. And so, almost timidly I come to what has

powered the hearts of all those who visit the temple, nervously taking my

thoughts into the line for darshan, wonder how I can express myself. I feel

myself standing in line, soaked in hot, held in the proximity of those around

me. And, as always I am almost blissfully unaware of their presence, alone and

focusssed in anticipation, waiting for the moment when, at last, there is a

surge forward and I am carried down toward the Lord. Suddenly my mind and body

are funneling along the dim passage and them I am finally before the sanctum.

Hardly a glimpse, no more than an impression of brief images, my eyes greedily

alighting on the Lord, on the dark stone, the garlands and jewels, the sea of

flickering lamps. And it is as these images are being stored in my mind's eye

that the spirit within goes still, the briefest of moments seeming to stretch

for all eternity as, unconsciously. I absorb, drinking like a thirsty man at an

oasis. Then everyday reality returns and the moment is over and as I move away

I gratefully count my blessings.

 

 

 

.... copyright - Bhaktapriya