[Guruvayur/Guruvayoor] A Pilgrim's Thoughts

[Guest guest]

Sorry,

I just happened to see this mail. Some how I missed to

read this one.

Suresh it is really excellent.

When I was so depressed I stayed in Gurvayoor for

around a week or so. Every day I tried to attend all

the major events. I use to take rest under the feet of

Adi Shankarar. When I sit there I use to think like

you have described. It is really excellent experience.

 

Thanks,

Senthilraj

 

--- Suresh <suresh wrote:

 

>

>

>

> 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

>

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