Clarity

Over a 1000 people jostling each other in a queue extending for a mile, a rampaging elephant, scantily clad men running in front of it like lunatics waving what looked like pom-poms about, and hordes of people clapping their hands and doing their part in driving the elephant berserk- my experience in Guruvayoor, ladies and gentlemen.

Babies, children, men and women, all choosing their modes and sounds of protest, standing and waiting for hours to ctach a glimpse of the Lord, decked in gold and protected in a sanctum sanctorum guarded by bouncers shoving those who dares to linger in front of the idol for longer than a second into the torrential queue, striving to find peace of mind in the midst of perspiring skin contact in the vortex of the whirpool of humanity desperate to gain heaven knows what divine salvation by stampeding before Vishnu's eyes.

I felt benevolent towards the elephants there, placidly eating palm leaves, jackfruit and bananas fed to them by the devotees. I gave mine to one of them too, and was blessed. I said a silent thank you to him for being the saving grace of the visit to the holy temple, and asked him to pass on to his lord my apologies for the thoughts that crossed my mind in the temple. I also thought it was commendable of them to walk five times, so serenly, around the temple, with people sitting on their heads, dogging them from behind, running in front of them and ogling from the sidelines. I fed one more later, because she seemed sad, and didn't seem to be able to break the jackfruit at her feet into appropriately small pieces.

I wished I had the mental space to consider and admire the beautiful carvings on the pillars, read the names of all the saints sculpted on the outside of the building, have even a remotely holistic idea of how that temple even looked from the inside. I didn't even get to see Krishna because I was seething at the way the bouncer was pushing and shouting at people who wanted to pray to Him. And I desperately wanted to avoid his pathetic, priestly hand on my shoulder, shoving me out of the way. So I concentrated on that. I couldn't see the black carvings on the granite walls and pillars inside, I had noone telling me of whom they were. My mother wanted me to see the most famous temple in Kerala, one of the most famous in India and feel the presence of something good, even if it wasn't God. I went from bored to angry to puzzled to scornful to indifferent. Whoever was looking down on this mad world that thinks the exercise of swimming in the seat of humanity for a purpose as flimsy as to look at an idol, and the hyped, commercial and utterly tedious business that faith has become today, would be disappointed. The all-seeing eyes would avert to that small temple that I had seen on the way to Kerala, where a tiny stream of clean people walked calmly out into the fresh, green air outside.

I presume there are those who feel cleansed by these trysts with magnificent crowds, the currency coughed up to be able to be the first to see their divine saviour, being human rolling pins for His/Her benefit, lying half-naked on the floor before him. I pity those who need to resort to these acts of piety to revitalise their relationship with God, to generate or restore a spark of love, brotherhood and faith and go to such repulsively material lengths for that faith to grow enough to appease that omniscient presence that they considered God. To them, most welcome are their means to their noble ends. The greatest temples of India are also the citadels of wealth, arrogance and corruption. I don't know what I believe in. I don't know who or what Vishnu is or was. But I know that this supreme entity would forgive me my thoughts of relief when I breathed the air of a space larger than that which I'd occupied for two hours.