Linda: Music under a Night Sky, March 21

Music under a Night Sky

Our final farewell to Kerala was postponed a day so that we could hear a concert given by Santosh, my singing teacher. In this concert, he could sing with the full range of his rich voice and with all the knowledge of Karnatic music that he holds within. He was the main performer and the other instruments (drum, clay percussion instrument, violin) supported and improvised around his themes and choice.

Twelve women left the Center at 6:00 (there always tends to be more women who are interested in what is offered at the Center than men), driving a little over an hour to a temple in the heart of Kerala. We drove through small towns until we reached a rutted dirt road. The palms swayed in the evening light as we went deeper into the jungle. We left the cars to follow a small path next to the temple wall as the night deepened and the call of the day birds were replaced by the throaty noises of night animals and birds. Quietly, we go around the small temple tank to the entrance of these sublimely beautiful Keralan temples: white stucco with wooden roof, carved screens, simple, serene, gentle, welcoming, and entirely lit by hundreds and hundreds of butter lamps. Little known to us, it was not only a concert day, but the day of a major festival for this temple. All was lit, everyone was in their best, all were happy. We were, truly, in the heart of Kerala.

The concert took place in a small, tented enclosure next to the main temple. Places had been saved in the front of the seating area for us. Santosh was in the center with the drummers on his left and the violinist on the right. For years, I have listened to Indian music, which I liked for a little while, but then found I became distracted. Quite frankly, it all sounded the same to me. Not exactly the same, but almost the same. In this concert, through the generosity of my teacher, Indian music came into my being. Over the past month, through story, through song, through explanations of individual pieces and concerts as a whole, my teacher had woven a path of understanding for me, a path whose culmination was this concert – for he had chosen the pieces carefully, as a gift to the Deva of the temple, to the people of the temple, and as a final farewell to us. First, a song to Ganesh, the remover of obstacles, and then other ragas, each different, each bringing a new emotion, a new intensity. One saw the intensity grow in the other performers as they wove music around the themes that Santosh introduced. You saw their faces deepen as the melody was introduced; you saw their joy and delight as the melody was improvised, embellished, glorified; you saw their response to that joy in their own playing. A raga for the temple and the central raga - I have never heard a voice move to such heights and such depths. Undulating sound around a theme subtly repeated. One held one’s breath and the body became still, utterly still and intensely content. All is well, all is good. It was one of those moments where one can say, “If there is a Paradise on earth, it is here” and it is now. The next raga was to the gods and the swami. One heard the names of the various deities, extolled and brought to this green earth through music. The air throbbed with presence; the soul, already content in the still, still body, found her joy, inward and upward. Not lost in music, never lost, but found in music. The Names, the soul, the music, the body, the jungle, the sky, the scent of flowers in the trees, the sounds of the temple as the activities continued there, One and Whole. Complete and Undivided. A moment to bring to my heart, from time to time when needed, forever. Finished … too soon. And, gently, gently, Santosh brings us back to this verdant world with the Tilana that he taught in class – a fast, playful tune. He begins, I smile in delight and gratitude, and he returns that smile – happy in my joy. Does he know what a gift he has given? He has opened a whole world in my heart, and unveiled heaven to my soul. The last raga – an apology, always the apology, asking forgiveness of the gods and of the audience for any imperfection in the song, acknowledgement that, even with our best intentions, we are, human and perfect only through the grace of God. We study, we work, we conform our heart, our will, and our soul to that which is most meaningful, so God will give us that sublime perfection which is the root of happiness. Find me a blanket that I may rest under this starry sky.

It is finished, and I wipe the tears. Santosh greets us quietly – how is it possible to say what I feel?

And, we are then told that a dinner has been prepared for us! Santosh had told the elders of the temple that we left before dinner. That was not to be. A sumptuous feast had been prepared in our honor, just for us. Rice and ghee, kicheri, papadam, several side dishes, all graciously served by the men of the temple on banana leaves – more than we could eat. We were blessed by generosity and hospitality, completely undeserved, like most of the good things that have come in my life. One knows that one has done nothing to deserve such plenitude, and yet, it comes.

For this, this was a night for women. This was the night where the women surrounded and blessed the temple with prayer and led the Deva around her home. Our dinner was interrupted by drums and wild singing. I look out the stone screen and see fire going by, five flames held high and a stream of smaller lights following. We leave the feast, going back under the sky and see the statue of the temple goddess, carried in procession, surrounded by drums, another staff of flame, and her ceremonial umbrella. The procession continues around the temple and then stops in front of the door to the main shrine. Men carrying the large flame staffs, men drumming and singing in joyful exhuberence, and dozens of women in line, each carrying an oil lamp, lit in honor of the goddess. They stop for a while in front of the shrine while the singers sing and dance, then, proceed again around the temple. This is repeated, again and again – later with a different group of musicians – this time with drums and that wild horn that echoes through the jungle, piercing, unescapable, beautiful – a call to the divine, a call to meet the divine. The men help the women by filling their lamps. They are the center and without them, there is no temple, there is no worship. Women, in Hinduism, are exalted.

It is well after 1:00 and we’ve an hour to drive. We thread our way around the temple, the sound of singing, of drums, of horn acknowledging the divine presence receding in the distance, and the vision of women and lamps a vision before my eyes.