Arjuna's Penance

Sorry, I got behind in my posting. This happened a while ago, but here it is.
When we were in Mamallapuram, I decided to go exploring on Arjuna's Penance. I was on Arjuna’s Penance, happily exploring, I accidentily tripped on the low hem of my sari. And all the pleats instantly fell out. Fortunately I caught them and hurridly stuffed them back into the waistband before glancing around to see if anyone had noticed my moment of clumsiness. A couple some distance from me were laughing, but I do not know if at me or at some personal joke. Ah well. I hunted around for a secluded spot n which to fix my sari properly, because the result of my hurried stuffing was a distinctly poofy sari. After I found one and fixed the sari to my satisfaction, I continued on my way. Apparently I had done a good job fixing my sari because a girl about my age introduced herself and complimented me on it. This was a huge relief. You would think I had learned my lesson, but no. Once off the hill, I noticed that part of my sari was trailing after me. I must have stepped on it again. I was in a much more crowded are at this point, so I quickly sat down on a step, both to hide my faulty clothing and to think what to do next. A kind tour-guide had already noticed me, however, and pointed out where the bathrooms were. I thanked him and was gathering my courage to cross the lawn full of people with my clothes trailing after me when a woman walked up and offered her assistance. She led me into a temple where we hid in a corner behind a pillar. I was safe on three sides. She expertly retied my sari without exposing an inch of skin that wouldn’t otherwise be exposed. I was very grateful, but the experience has put me off saris for a while.

Linda: Shri Ramana Ashram – Day 2 Jan 7

Shri Ramana Ashram – Day 2

Today was a day spent entirely in the ashram, for most of us. Patrick worked in the morning, but spent the afternoon climbing Mt. Arunachula with his father. Eleanor, Matthew, and I attended a simple puja at 6:45 in the morning, followed by breakfast in the dining hall.

Breakfast was a wonderful meal and experience. Anyone who wants to eat washes their hands, comes in, and sits, one next to each other, behind a “plate” made from leaves. At breakfast, our plate or eating mat was several leaves sewn together by some kind person. One washes the leaves with water and then several priests and helpers come by, doling various foods onto the leaf plate. This morning, we had 3 idly (rice cakes), some vegetable curry, and delicious hot coffee (in a cup). Second servings are offered, and when one is finished, one merely folds your plate in half so the helpers can clean up. Oh – no utensils. You eat everything with your right hand (never the left), scooping everything together and somehow managing to get it to your mouth without spilling it onto your clothes. It actually works quite well – and NO DISHES!! I could definitely get use to this. It was so simple, so quiet, so dignified. There was no real conversation, one just ate and left and went on with whatever the day was to bring.

Afterwards, we thought there was to be more chanting and prayers, but either there wasn’t or we were not in the right place. We wandered out of the back of the compound, and started up the mountain, intending to go just a little way. We were barefooted, as one leaves one’s shoes at the gates of the ashram. Up the path is the place where Shri Ramana had lived in a cave for 20 years in silence, before a place further down the mountain was built for him (actually built more for the pilgrims who wished to see him). Instead of going right, Eleanor chose left, where there was a small shelter residence of a sadhu with a lovely shrine – a perfect little home (something my wilderness survival spirit was particularly drawn to). It had a leaf roof with low sides and flat boulders making two low walls/beds/backrests. The roof did not quite meet the top of the boulders, and one could sit in the shade and shelter, looking over the valley and breathing the scent of aromatic flowers. One corner was a fire pit and there was a little shrine to Shiva at the back of the hut. That was all – and it was everything. Just up the path was a little pool to go to bathe every day (the streets here may be dirty, but the people are usually clean), something required in the religion. So, shelter, water, fire, food at the ashram, a hospitable environment, and a simple cloth for clothing. No need. No want. Perfect contentment.

As with most mountain paths, when it comes to Eleanor and me, going up a little way always means going a little way more. We ended up walking almost all the way up the mountain in our bare feet. I love the mountains so much. Up high with the sky and the wind. Unfortunately, one never got away from the tooting of the horns below, and I was vastly wishing for the quiet of the west. That is something America has in great measure – pristine, silent, wilderness. What a blessing. When we neared the top, we stopped and sat for awhile. I watched a family of monkeys scampering about and saw an eagle soaring over the top of the mountain. And with that eagle, yesterday and today came together. Our time on the mountain was much too brief, but I was aware of the movement of the sun and knew that what little shade we had would be gone in another hour, making the rocks hot as well as rough. (Grateful again for all those tracking/survival skills.) After our climb, Eleanor went back to soak her feet (climbing sandstone barefooted leaves its mark) and I went to wait for lunch. Then rest and … the remainder of the day much like yesterday – and tomorrow.

We may hike around the bottom of Arunachula tomorrow. Going around the bottom is something people from all over India come to do. It is a road/track peppered with little temples and shrines. It is 14 km and should take a good part of the morning. Thank goodness it is “winter”, with temperatures in the 80’s rather than summer – with temperatures in the 100’s! Eleanor and I still hope to make it to the top of the mountain as well.

Linda: Shri Ramana Maharshi Ashram Jan 6

Shri Ramana Maharshi Ashram

Arunachula

We arrived at about 3:30 in the afternoon at the Ashram of Shri Ramana Maharshi. Shri Ramana was a great saint who lived and died here in 1950. Because of the recentness of his life, there are many photographs, videos, and recordings of this remarkable man. He led an extremely simple life, lived in silence on this mountain for many years, and then began answering questions to pilgrims over the course of his later years. His profound wisdom, with his axiomatic question “Who am I?” opened the hearts of many seekers of all religions, and it is a place where people from all over the world come to pay their respects and live, for a few days at least, in quiet devotion. It is not a new age place of “feel good, anything goes” that can also attract westerners to various Indian “gurus”. The people here are Hindu, following in the footsteps of their spiritual master. It is authentic and welcoming in a quiet way.

When we arrived, we were escorted to the guesthouse here, a place where people interested in Shri Ramana can stay for 3 days. There are no fees, but one can (and we will) leave a donation afterwards. The guesthouse is simple and clean, located about 5 minutes from the ashram down a small road. The way is lined with orange clad Sadhus with the three lines of Shiva marking their foreheads. At night, one will see them sleeping along the street or on a rock, leading a simple, ascetic life, much like Ramana had. These men are not devotees of Shri Ramana – Arunachula attracts many spiritual seekers. Alongside the Sadhus are people of many nationalities, often clad in long skirts or tunic/pants with scarves for the women and long shirts/pants for the men. People walk slowly – there is no where to go, one is here and one is now and that is all that matters. No thinking about the past or the future or what one should be doing. It is a wonderful thing, to just be and not to always be doing something.

After settling our bags and eating a meal, Matthew and I went to the ashram to listen to the evening prayers. The ashram here is well endowed. The main hall is in front of the burial place of Shri Ramana Maharshi (located behind a Shiva statue) and is next to the burial place of his mother, who was also a follower of his and a saint in her own right. Because the ashram is well endowed, there is no question of money, donation, tithing, etc., which is something of a relief. All is really simple. One comes and one participates as much or as little as one wants. To simply be there is enough. When one enters the hall, the women sit to the right, the men to the left. This is something I also like, because it gives everyone a sense of autonomy. One comes on one’s own. Both wife and husband are freed of their duty to one another and can simply be present. Many, many religions practice this in various modalities. If I remember correctly, early Christianity did as well. It is easy to understand why. The ceremony is a simple puja lasting about 15 minutes. Priests chant prayers while one priest prays, giving offerings of fire and of the people and asking that their petitions be answered. After the puja, pilgrims can come up to the front and receive a tikka, or little dot of coloring to put on their foreheads as a special blessing. Sometimes they can receive part of the offering that had been made as well: sugar, butter, flowers.

Then, carpets are lain in the front of the hall with the men facing in toward the center, as do the women, so the men and women are facing each other. 45 minutes of chanting follow, where the men and women chant verses back and forth. In Hinduism, it is very important to be married. For a man to fulfill his spiritual obligation, he needs a wife to say the prayers with. Thus, the wife and husband are both sacred in one another’s eyes. Thus, in the spirit, both the husband and the wife are superior to the other. Women are treated with great respect here – if a person is following the precepts of their religion. So, here we sat, listening to the calling, back and forth, of sacred song passed between the men and women. When a chant was concluding, the two parts would come together in unison, which was powerful and beautiful.

At the conclusion, all left the hall for a simple meal provided by the ashram. Matthew and I did not eat at this time, but did eat in the ashram the next day. Instead, we went back to the guesthouse … to sleep.

Linda: Tirukalikundrum – The Eagle Temple Jan 5

Tirukalikundrum – The Eagle Temple

The Road to Arunachula: Shiva’s Holy Mountain

Lila – God’s play. All seemed to be arranged to leave Mamallapuram – 11:00 taxi drive to Trivandrum, the city at the foot of the holy mountain, Arunachala. Alas, the taxi arrives, a tiny contraption that will barely squeeze the three of us in … without luggage. Much to the consternation of the taxi driver who had turned down another hire, we hired another taxi. We were quite clear that we needed a large taxi when requesting service and all was left on reasonably good terms once the taxi driver saw our four large suitcases and four adult bodies. Our new taxi driver was a gem. We were told that someone had read his astrology and said he was a tiger in a previous life. Indeed, there was something very tiger-like in his features, flashing eyes, and graceful way of walking, though his manner was gentle, happy, and protective of us. He was extremely agreeable and allowed us to stop at Tirukalikundrum, The Eagle Temple, mid-way in our journey.

Tirukalikundrum is a Pallava temple, similar in age to the ones we had just visited. It is perched high on a large hill/mountain and it is said that eagles had once flown there daily f;rom the Ganges River, uniting that sacred river to the temple. It is a temple sacred to Shiva. One enters at the bottom on the mountain, leaving one’s shoes with the keeper there. Tourists pay a substantially larger fee (fair enough) and one can purchase fruit and flowers if one wants to make an offering, which we did not. Once one leaves the gate, one climbs long, steep stairways straight up the side of the mountain. The stairs could be quite hot and we were all cultivating the little bits of shade next to the walls. We happened to come at noon, which was the time for a major ceremony at the Temple. Several pilgrims had come with offerings (perhaps 30 or so, not too many) of flowers, and flowers were left at various points along the way – wherever the mood struck a pilgrim it seems. One sleeping dog, basking on the steps just below the temple, also received a little offering of flowers. Very sweet. The temple rose ahead, its walls striped in red and white. There was a balcony to the right just before the temple where priests would chant the Vedas, but now it was empty. As we approached the final steps to the temple, pilgrims were lined on either side of the doorway, singing chants and saying prayers and blessings for us as we passed by. They were all so happy, and it was quite transporting to here these beautiful chants at the door of a temple perched so high above the world. The temple itself was a simple structure, very, very old, with an antechamber with windows overlooking the countryside. One then ascended a few steps into the inner sanctum. When entering a Hindu temple, one should go clockwise around the center structure that houses the main deity. Often, there are subsidiary and related deities flanking this inner sanctum. Halfway around is the doorway into the main sanctuary. My husband, however, had already gone inside and directed me in the opposite direction to a beautiful shrine of Parvati, the wife and consort of Shiva. The statue was immensely old and beautifully decorated with flowers and offerings. The priest was sitting outside – a young man who had studied the Vedas for five years and had been an active priest of one. I found the whole ambience of this temple to be powerful, and there was something of the feel of the eagle’s perch, a place that called to Eagle People. I felt very much at home here, high on the mountain, soaring in the air. As I moved around the temple, older priests were just finishing a ceremony inside. I was able to see the Shiva lingum inside, just as the priests were finishing their ceremony and before the curtains were drawn over it, hiding its presence from mankind. The priest said this particular deity was 14,000 years old. Did he mean 1400? That would put in with the Pallava dynasty – or is it much, much older, which would also be a possibility. As we left the temple, Eleanor said a white bird of prey soaring above her head. Perhaps the eagles had not abandoned their abode after all! A white eagle at the Eagle Temple – a taste of home.

Things are so very old here. Even the mountains are old. As we continued to Tiruvanamalai, we passed some old, old mountains. One compares the Rockies with the Appalachia Mountains and sees a contrast of young and old mountains. The Rockies, still growing, have massive outcroppings or rock piercing the sky. The Appalachians are smooth, maternal, gentle, green covered. These mountains were older still. The mountain was laid bare. There were no trees, and instead of a solid rock, it was as if some giant had collected boulders of enormous size and piled them up. The whole mountain was fissured and eroding, slowly, slowly returning back to the surface. But it had not always been so, for one could see the remains of Pallava temples and fortresses dotting the mountain tops, abandoned for a thousand years and perhaps unvisited for many years past.

It was at this point that our driver made Patrick’s day and allowed him to drive the taxi. I decided to not look, and he did very well, tooting the horn and going around pedestrians, bullocks, autorickshaws, bicycles, and avoiding larger taxis and busses. He certainly understood where he was on the transportation pecking order. At one point, we passed a highway patrol man. Our taxi driver did a swift intake of breath, hoping we would not get pulled over (driving without a license), though he assured us that a 250Rs fee would take care of any inconvenience. Fortunately, the policeman did not notice the driver, and, several minutes later, Patrick returned the wheel back to the taxi driver. We were all a bit relieved, but it was kind of him to appeal to Patrick’s youthful adventure – a kindred spirit.

We approached Arunachula Mountain from the east and I was struck at how similar it was to Bear Butte, a mountain in South Dakota sacred to the Lakota and Cheyenne Indians. It rose out of the flat plain, much like Bear Butte, and its whole structure looked exactly like a larger version of Bear Butte. It is interesting that two such mountains, both so sacred, both so similar exist. I wondered if there was some sort of geographical symmetry – probably not. Still, after the Eagle Temple, there was that continued feeling of coming home.

Photo test - matthew

No Go!

Arjuna's Penance

Srorry I got behind in my posting! This happened a few days ago.
I went exploring the other day a place called Arjuna's Penance. It is where Arjuna prayed to get divine help. It was a bit strange to be in what I think of as a place of mythology. Intellectually, I suppose, I knew that the Mahabharata really was supposed to have happened, but it was so far removed from me, and from my culture, that it seemed like just a really good story. Anyway, Arjuna's Penance is really nice. You can get away from the city (the bane of my existence is the inescapable noise) and just walk around in nature. There are lots of goats, and I saw 18 monkeys!

When I was on Arjuna’s Penance, happily exploring, I accidentally tripped on the low hem of my sari. And all the pleats instantly fell out. Fortunately I caught them and hurriedly stuffed them back into the waistband before glancing around to see if anyone had noticed my moment of clumsiness. A couple some distance from me were laughing, but I do not know if at me or at some personal joke. Ah well. I hunted around for a secluded spot n which to fix my sari properly, because the result of my hurried stuffing was a distinctly poofy sari. After I found one and fixed the sari to my satisfaction, I continued on my way. Apparently I had done a good job fixing my sari because a girl about my age introduced herself and complimented me on it. This was a huge relief. You would think I had learned my lesson, but no. Once off the hill, I noticed that part of my sari was trailing after me. I must have stepped on it again. I was in a much more crowded are at this point, so I quickly sat down on a step, both to hide my faulty clothing and to think what to do next. A kind tour-guide had already noticed me, however, and pointed out where the bathrooms were. I thanked him and was gathering my courage to cross the lawn full of people with my clothes trailing after me when a woman walked up and offered her assistance. She led me into a temple where we hid in a corner behind a pillar. I was safe on three sides. She expertly retied my sari without exposing an inch of skin that wouldn’t otherwise be exposed. I was very grateful, but the experience has put me off saris for a while.

Linda: Mamallapuram: Final Moments

Mamallapuram: Final Moments

Our sojourn here is near its end. The town is small enough, that as we walk the few city blocks from one place to another, shopkeepers and beggars become familiar, street hawkers are less likely to call (having shown no interest in buying), and we are becoming known amongst the local population. Calls of “very nice sari, very nice” abound, partly as a ploy to gain attention and possibly enter a shop, but also quite genuinely and spontaneously. Yesterday, Eleanor was having significant sari troubles that resulted in our maid, with smiles and much good will, giving us a sari lesson. I’ve a few new tricks … but still not the art of it. At least my sari has stayed on. Several times, people ask about our wearing the sari. “Do you wear the sari in America?” “Do many people wear saris in America?” “Are you Christian?” “Are most Americans Christian?” “Do Indian women wear saris in America?” “Where did you buy your sari?” etc. And, despite wearing my hair in a braid and having on a sari, it is quite clear that I am a foreigner. I think it’s the way I walk.

Today, I was sitting on the side of the street, watching the rich parade of life going on all around. There are a few beggars, mostly rather quiet, but each with their own way. One man wandered the streets, a can in one hand and sometimes a little monkey on a lead in the other. He was old, with a white doti and a kind of head scarf. He had a radiant smile and wonderful presence. I hope to see him on the last day, as I would like to give him a little bit before we leave. Others also are near, sometimes asking for help, sometimes content to smile, sometimes being a little bit pushy and insistent, but not too much. It can be hard to walk by, especially mothers with young children, but in this town at least, being on the touristy side, I think that most of them at least have food to eat. In Chennai, it was different. Urban poverty is so much more devastating than rural poverty. There is no beauty in the surroundings from which one can take consolation. There is no hope of a little plot of land to gather or grow food. In Chennai, there was some begging, but there were also people lying on the streets - no smiles, no lightness, no movement. From all accounts, southern India is much easier than the north with regard to begging and destitution, so this is a theme to which I may return.

Today we bought a beautiful marble statue, carved locally, of Krishna and Radha. Krishna is a much beloved god, whose endearing childhood and young manhood have inspired much in the world of dance, poetry, and artistry. Radha is Krishna’s first love, and this particular statue shows Krishna playing his flute for his beloved. Krishna is also the speaker in the Bhagavad Gita. It took us three days to buy this statue – in fact, we had intended to buy another. We’d chosen a modest sized statue of Lakshmi, but my husband was standing in front of this larger statue and decided to purchase it, though it was rather expensive. I think the shopkeeper was as surprised as I was, and had come down $50 in the price. The shopkeeper was a young man, closely associated with one of the stone carving enclaves in town. Of all the shops I’d seen (dozens), his had the most beautiful statues and the best prices. At any rate, the experience of buying here is setting the stage for future endeavors. We’ve made a few decisions. First, we will try to buy whatever is local. Mamallapuram = stone. Kanchipuram = silk. Dharamsala = pakshima wool (exquisite). Rajasthan = textiles. Second, I’ve learned to spend days scouring around, looking at prices, getting a feel for the quality, and finding a shopkeeper that is engaging and kind (that part is easy). Finally, I’m trying not to feel guilty about not buying something in a shop in which I spent a lot of time. This part is not so easy. AND, we still have to carry it, or deal with postage.

Today is Sunday and the town is teeming with Indians coming to the beach for the day. There is a festive climate, many many types of people, and flashing smiles. I’ve seen several Muslim women today in full black dress, head to toe, with a bit of black gauze over the eyes so the women can see. And yet, what a glimpse. Beautiful eyes, painted with kohl, observant, quiet, intense. Despite being completely covered, these women walked with immense personality. Some were lithe and graceful; others forceful; others playful. In a strange sort of way, taking away the details of the person’s body almost enhanced the more subtle qualities of personality and style. I would love to be able to speak with some of these women – perhaps later. I’ll try to sneak a photograph. And their shopping was every bit as animated as mine! Some things are the same everywhere.

As we were wandering around some of the sites, a bus load of school children came up the path. We’d seen them earlier on their bus, hands out the window waving to everyone who would wave back with cries of delight when someone responded. Again, some things are the same everywhere. There they trooped, all in orange uniforms and followed by dutiful parents in colorful garments acting as chaperones. Needless to say, I was right at home and enjoyed waving, smiling, and taking photographs. They clambered over rocks, stood for photographs with tourists, and were lovely in their animated joy. The parents looked a bit tired and the teacher a bit worried (perhaps I was relating to this scene too much), and the whole of the scene was quite lovely. I love seeing what is the same in all that is seemingly different.

Tomorrow, the Eagle Temple, perched high on a hill outside the town, and then Tiruvanamalai and a 3 night stay at the Ramana Maharshi ashram.