Universally Speaking

July 22, 2011
by Vivek
0 comments

The Peninsular Expedition: Day 12

Naturally, the post is a continuation to Day 11.1, even if it over 36 hours behind schedule. The reason for that is a number of things, such as catching up on some R&R (read rest and recuperation) meant that I couldn’t post yesterday. Of course, the events that took place “today” (in terms of post, not actual date) should serve as a more than reasonable alibi for lack of punctuality.

*****

I pick up the action where I left off in the last post. It’s about 1 AM on Thursday morning when the car pulls into the parking lot on the banks of River Pamba. We had set out at about 8 PM the same night, and had made a single pitstop around 11 PM at a roadside teashop, or thattukada as such a shop is known in Malayalam. Nothing like a cup of steaming hot tea on a chilly night, breathing in the refreshing mountain air whilst listening to the sounds of a minor waterfall somewhere in the unseen background.

The vehicle in question was a Chevrolet Travera. There was a CD player and I believe over 90 (yes, ninety) different devotional songs were covered on the trip. Most of the route was pretty much deserted, except for the occasional car headed to the same destination that the driver overtook without much effort.

Once we got to the basecamp, it started drizzling heavily/raining lightly (whichever way you want to look at it). It was also around 1 AM. This is rationale enough to call this post Day 11.2, because in my book, days are not separated by 24 hour periods, but my periods of slumber, of which I had gotten none on the way to Pampa. Oh well…

We rearranged some of the stuff in the bags. The shoulder bag, which I was to wear for most of the journey contained some food rations (read biscuits), a spare towel, our wallets and our mobile phones – a gentle reminder: dhotis are not equipped with pockets.

After a while, we got out, placed light towels on our heads, placed the irumudis on our respective heads and set of for a set of steep steps that led down to the banks of the river. After crossing the footbridge, some of the members of the troupe, including me, had to visit a rather foul-smelling communal latrine complex – they had about 4 of these near basecamp. All of them two-story buildings with about 40 latrines each. Each one of them almost uniformly filthy. But oh well, when you gotta go, you just gotta go.

After that, a quick dip in the River Pamba was required as per the handy pilgrim’s guidebook (Disclaimer: no such publication exists). Mind you, this was around 1 AM. But the water wasn’t really that chilly, say, compared to the Ganga, which I’ve had the chance to take a dip in. Even though I visited the Ganga in the middle of the day, it was much colder than the Pamba.

The temperature isn’t really the issue, it’s the not-going-too-deep-into-the-river-so-that-you-don’t-get-carried-away-by-the-current that’s the issue.

After drying off, began the seemingly long and arduous trek of about 4 km from the banks of the River Pamba to the temple of Sabarimala. Not all pilgrims choose to make this trek in the middle of the night. Some book accommodation at one of the several guest houses/pilgrim centers up the mountain, arrive at a more earthly hour, and make the climb. But since the temple is supposed to be visited as soon as possible after its opening (for reasons which are beyond me), we had to be there before 5 AM. Of course, one would argue that one could book a room at the top, trek in the daytime and wake up nice and early in time to catch the waking of the gods, but we didn’t follow that route probably because my dad and the others couldn’t be arsed to.

View Larger Map

Of course, there isn’t just one path to reach the temple. There are multiple trails, of varying length and difficulty, and we simply chose the one that was most convenient, one of the two which started from the banks of the River Pamba. The one we took had handrails and some cemented paths too. The other was apparently more wild and untouched. (In retrospect, I wish we’d taken that one.)

The trek itself does not begin gently and build up to a steep incline. It’s pretty much steep from the outset. Although this trek is traditionally done barefooted, we conveniently chose to circumvent that rule, as we did many other rules in the run up to the trek. None of this seemed to bother any of the religious people accompanying me, so who was I to complain. Sandals are a good idea when the trek involved is a rough uphill climb.

My dad was telling me that the handrails and cemented path that I was walking on were a recent addition and that a few years ago, the trek would have been decidedly more challenging. Of course, he didn’t really say all of this in one go. My dad, like any busy modern-day executive, wasn’t a 100% in shape, and was huffing and puffing his way up the mountain as if his basic intention was to knock it over with his breath. It was a bit of a painful reminder about how out-of-shape he was. My uncle and my dad’s friend, who were also part of the group, weren’t really faring any better.

I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life. Even though it was getting pretty dark, and I couldn’t see much, the sound of the River Pamba echoing away as I rose higher and higher, accompanied with the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops occasionally falling on the canopy formed by trees overhead were all fantastically refreshing from my ancestral homes (both of which were within walking distance of National Highway 47).

This was the first time I was getting some proper exercise in several weeks, as my pharyngitis had put an end to any and every form of exercise. It’s curios how my usually hypochondriac mother ,who would lose her mind at the mention of even some light jogging in the local park over the past few weeks, mellowed in an instant at the mention of a holy pilgrimage. It confirmed my theory that religion can make people throw caution to the winds and abandon some well thought out theories in favor of religious fulfillment. Of course, it all means something for her, but me? I was just coming along for the fresh air and to stretch my limbs.

And stretch them I did – powering up the mountain faster than most of the other pilgrims. It wasn’t even coming in short bursts, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have had to make half the pitstops on the way up if it weren’t for the other members of the group. About 200m into the trek, at the first break of many that were required by my dad and the others, I shed the shirt, which was simply causing me to overheat. Despite the rain and mountain air, my body needed little excuse to perspire and this little mountain expedition was sufficient to get the sweat glands all worked up in a tizzie.

However, being the considerate fellow traveler, I waited up for them to catch up at each and every “level zone”. There were several of these zones spaced out throughout the trail, providing much needed places to rest for the not-so-fit pilgrims.

In fact, the pilgrims disinclined to climb the incline could even pay about 2,000 rupees and get themselves a dolly. A dolly is nothing but a chair supported by 2 long wooden logs which are carried by 4 strong men. Of course, the rate for the really-out-of-shape pilgrims goes up to 4,000 bucks. But the price being directly proportional to the weight of the pilgrim in question seems to a fairly reasonable pricing model, especially since it is so relevant to the service being rendered.

Oh, and I humorously pointed out to dad the numerous Cardiology Centers we encountered on our climb. These are again spaced out evenly across the trail for the weak-hearted (literally!).

The intermittent rain was of considerable concern to my father, who’s responsibility it was to reach me back home without a considerably worsened cold or cough. I’d picked up a light version before setting off, on Wednesday morning. Again, it was remarkable how my Mom, who would’ve normally been horrified at the prospect of any such expedition in my then-current condition didn’t raise any objections against a 4km uphill trek in possibly foul weather. As I said, religion does make people jumble up priorities…

*****

I’ll continue the rest of the narrative later, because as always, I’ve lost track of the word count while writing this up.

July 21, 2011
by Vivek
1 Comment

The Peninsular Expedition: Day 11.1

Oh, totally forgot about the actual Day 11, posting about Lord Ayyappan and whatnot in the last post.

Started reading a John Grisham I’d picked up at British Council Library before the trip: The Associate. It’s a pretty gripping book so far, with a descriptive style of narration that captivates the reader. Might do a review for no particular reason once I’m done, but that’s for later. Also, you’ve got to love the description that book gives of the interiors of a major law firm’s offices in New York. Good stuff so far, I’ll say.

The morning began with a visit to the temple for the aforementioned mala. I should point out that I did not follow the 41 days of austerity (mainly because of a multitude of factors including the date being finalized rather late, my non-interest in religion and my parent’s lack of research and casual nature towards the casual interpretation of the rules). However, since I am a vegetarian by non-default (I turned about 2 years ago, and I’ll post about that in a few days time, when an uncle and aunt will try to woo me over with tandoori chicken and the likes), at least part of the austerities are dealt with.

The casual nature of my parents causes concern to me. Being a non-religious person, I can quite understand a similar casual nature undertaken by a fellow atheist or agnostic. But the fact remains that my parents are believers of the faith. But what puzzles me is that if you actually do believe in something, with the hope that a higher power may some day remove obstacles and show you the path to enlightenment, then why not actually do the tasks prescribed by these religious texts. It’s not the object of the attitude that concerns me, but the nature of the attitude itself. The attitude could be towards any other topic for all I care, say, a strong belief that zebras are poised to take over the world. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that lack of 100% awareness in the topic of belief, or at the very least, a desire to attain said expertise.

That said, the preparations were left almost entirely up to an uncle of mine, who is an expert at these sort of things. He arranged for the malas. He knew which temples to visit. He booked the cab (Sabarimala is about 190 kilometers from Thiruvananthapuram). Anyhow, we are rather completely under his guidance on this one. Me, I just played along…

Yes, I did wear this around my neck for about 18 hours...

The day began with a visit to a temple. This is where I learnt that my great-grandfather (father’s mother’s father) was a junior temple priest at the very same temple. Oh, how he’d writhe in shame if he were to come across his great-grandson’s writings about god, or lackofwhom. There’s a little story about him (unverified, of course). People said that he was a priest with a sense of humor and that he would pleasantly try to chat the gods into having some payasam and all. I know about the futility of talking to a sculpted piece of rock, but those who believe it to be something more than just that obviously have different beliefs. One night, when he went to offer prayers and payasam to the idol, he fell asleep, was found the next morning, and the basket of payasam was empty. He simply explained it away by saying that the gods had consumed it all. Anyway, after the usual pheras (or circumambulations, if you are keep that particular word in your everyday vocabulary), we visited another smaller temple – this one apparently solely dedicated to Ayyappan or something of the sorts. I never bothered to verify, because of precisely that reason: I never bothered. There a mala was produced, duly worshiped and placed around my neck with appropriate sharanams.

I should explain what a sharanam is: The invocation of “Swamiye sharanam ayyappa” is one of the things you are likely to hear over and over before, on your way to, and at Sabarimala. It is supposed to mean “My refuge is in you Ayyappa“. You may find online renditions of this particular line here, if you are so inclined to listen to them (RealPlayer required, you have been warned).

This was followed by further circumambulations, and then, my favorite bit, smashing a coconut by flinging it at a slab or rock.

Vivek – 1
Coconuts – 0

As I was to learn later, this wasn’t the last time my meleé skills were to be in demand.

In all fairness, the preparations my troupe to Sabarimala took were absolutely minimal. A clever loophole (or at least that’s what my Dad called it) to avoid the 41 days was exploited: the vritham can only be observed after the declaration of intent, which was only officially done about a week before the trip. There was no community service, and all that yada-yada.

So at about 6 in the evening, I packed a bag with basic toiletries, an extra change of clothes and we set off for the final pre-launch checks at the local family temple., Upon reaching the place, I found that all material required had been arranged by aforementioned uncle. Next came the traditional procedure of irumudi kettu. The irumudi is a two-partitioned bag that is to be carried on the head during the pilgrimage. “kettu” means “tying”. The process is complex, pointless (in my opinion) and must be followed to the letter, of course.

First, said pilgrim must be dressed in the garb he is to ascend to Sabarimala in. For me, this was a blue dhoti (yes, as a matter of fact I did wear one throughout the pilgrimage, albeit with a pair of boxers underneath, since my dhoti-tying skills are not to be depended upon, especially when long climbs present themselves in the not-too-distant future). Also, pilgrims must be shirtless (this does not apply to female pilgrims).

So, there I sat, without a shirt, in a proper dhoti for what I can safely say is the first time in my life, on the floor, cross-legged, in front of the idol, with a priest to my right, as he supervised me as I poured ghee (clarified butter) into a now-drained coconut through one of its eyes, which had been carved out. This coconut was then sealed with a cork and wax. Then rice is scooped and poured into a bag with the drained-refilled-sealed coconut, along with a coin or two. The then two more coconuts into the irumudi. Then this is tied shut. And this is repeated for each of the pilgrims. Of course, with saranams in the background.

After some prasad, and some farewells, we, the pilgrims, placed the bundles on our heads, circumambulate (I’m going to use this word again and again, just because I love typing it out) the sanctum sanctorum, and smashed yet another coconut against yet another slab of stone.

Vivek – 2
Coconuts – 0

Y.e.a.h...I know it's blurry, but that's because I took it from a moving car and with the brightness set to lowest on my phone so couldn't preview it well...

And then, we 4 pilgrims bundle ourselves into a car and set off on the 4-5 hour long journey to Pampa, the small town situated next to the the river with the same name. It was a pretty smooth ride for most of the way, till we got off the highway, of course. Then things got a bit bumpy, but that was more than compensated by the twistiness, where the driver seemed intent on redefining the meaning of the term fearless bastard. Couldn’t see much of the road though, because there weren’t any streetlights though.

There was no barometer, except my ears, which popped at regular intervals to remind me that we were gaining altitude. Oh, and some fog and mist, which is uncommon for me in the month of July. We reached the place around 1 in the morning, and I’m inclined to continue the story later.

Oh, and a link to the (approximate) route taken.

July 19, 2011
by Vivek
1 Comment

The Peninsular Expedition: Day 11

Disclaimer: This post is not of importance to you if you found Day 9 and Day 10 boring.

*****

It’s true. I’ll be leaving for Sabarimala later today evening. Just for context, this if the first time that I’ll have to label myself as a pilgrim, not having made any similar to any of the other popular places of religious congregation in the country, such as Vaishno Devi and the likes. (Oh wait, I did go to Haridwar, on the banks of the River Ganga, but I was too young to think too much about it). Anyhow, being a pilgrim, there are rules to be followed. Proper protocol so as to not displease the gods.

It is a different matter altogether that neither I nor my parents, for our own independent reasons, were interested in following the instructions to the letter. Nevertheless, just for the sake of the uninformed reader, and also for my own amusement, I am going to lay out the procedure that is to be followed.

The actual pilgrimage to Sabarimala is preceded by a 41-day-long penance in order to “purify” ones self in preparation for the communion with god. In my opinion, an hour-long bath would purify my exteriors much better than 41-days of severe austerities, but meh, what can a guy do. Speaking of guys, all males are allowed to go on this pilgrimage, whereas only pre-pubescent or post-menopausal women are allowed to trek up the mountain. This might seem odd, as it would usually be the children and old women who would not be in a physical state to make the multi-kilometer trek up the mountain, which has been described as severe by some.

Turns out the reason for this ban on 20-something-old women and thereabouts is because Lord Ayyappan is said to be celibate. This means that he has chosen to abstain from all sexual intercourse, and all marital vows in any and every form. Of course, this would immediately render the entire Percy Jackson series of books (involving demi-gods, who are born unto the (un)holy communion of a god and a mortal) immediately incompatible with some of the basic tenets of Hinduism. However, this didn’t seem to stop a certain southern belle from claiming to have done what is considered to be blasphemous.

Anyhow, getting back to the penance itself. Oh wait. I can’t. Because (for reasons that are beyond my comprehension) there are procedures to follow before the procedure which one must follow in order to gain access to Sabarimala. Yes, my cerebrum probably twisted itself into an undoable knot when I read this, but I sighed, undid the knot and moved on.

Before embarking on the penance, or as it is locally known, vritham, the pilgrim must seek permission from his family, and also his guru. Of course in my case, I didn’t ask my parents so much so as they ordered me to go to Sabarimala. A guru is simply someone who’s been to Sabarimala at least 7 times, and thus, is revered like Ayyapan himself. The guru‘s main responsibility is to impart knowledge to the pilgrims on just what in the world they are supposed to do to prepare themselves to get to sabarimala, and what to do once they’re there. Basically your average religious instructor.

So, once the prerequisite permissions have been sought and attained, the pilgrim must offer some prayers to the family deity. Yes, here, most families have a family temple. Though this is probably in the loosest sense of the word, and it is nigh-on-impossible to know every single member of your super-extended family. This includes uncles, aunts, great-aunts and great-uncles of varying degrees of separation. But the fact of the matter is that there is likely to be a family temple and a family deity. End of story.

So some prayers, and curiously, “1.25 currency units” are to be offered to the deity. Then a nice fresh garland of flowers is to be obtained, subsequently smeared all over with sandalwood paste (presumable, the gods like this sort of thing) and presented to Lord Ayyapan. Not the idol at sabarimala, of course. Like all popular gods, he has established local communication lines in the form of local temples and idols, so that no ordinary man or woman is ever left wanting in terms of spiritual satisfaction.

The pilgrim must also purchase a nice new plain colored dhoti (nothing but a 7 yard long rectangular piece of unstitched cloth, which is worn around the waist and legs) and a shawl. Next, said pilgrim must clean himself, clip his nails, shave his beard and shorten his hair. This is because the pilgrim is not allowed to cut his hair or nails for the next 41 days. The 42nd day is the day of pilgrimage. (Maybe this is where Douglas Adams sought inspiration for the answer to life, the universe and everything)

On the first day of the vritham, the pilgrim must wake up nice and early, take a bath, go to the family temple, perform a little puja to both his/her family deity as well as a mala or necklace, which he then receives from his guru amidst the chanting of invocations. This necklace is an important bit of the whole ceremony, since it means that the pilgrim is now a clone of Lord Ayyappan. The true gravity of the situation would only be realized when you think about the fact that hundreds, possibly thousand other clones will be existing at any given point of time. So I accept the more toned down version, which states that the pilgrim is now supposed to live a life similar to that of Lord Ayyappan. Makes the whole thing a bit easier to digest, in my opinion.

So for the next 41 days, the pilgrim is supposed to live an extremely pious life: serving temples, helping the poor, attending religious discourses and the likes. Purification of spirit, I assume, is the goal of these activities. He/she is also supposed to bathe at least twice, if not thrice, in a day, chant the name of the god in question ~~about~~ precisely 108 times, and smear his forehead with sandalwood paste. Getting into a fistfight is considered a strict no-no, even if you get assaulted in an alleyway, apparently, as is verbal abuse.

Food must not only be purely vegetarian, but must also be satvik. Satvik is a very subjective term which means ‘pure food’. It is supposed to not only be free of impurities and disease, but is also responsible for making its consumer pure. This means no alcohol, to tobacco and no meat. Moreover, the pilgrim must abstain from all social activities (again, a very subjective term, but the popular interpretation is no parties and other social interactions). I can only assume that Google Plus hangouts also fall under the purview of these limitations. Also, the pilgrim must remain absolutely celibate, and refrain from any sexual thoughts towards a member of the opposite sex, including his/her wife/husband (if the pilgrim has one). (There is a clever little loophole here that homosexuals will be more than happy to exploit)

Oh, and it is considered a rule (though I’d consider it a common courtesy) to make sure that your penance doesn’t inconvenience anybody else. This rather vague statement is naturally subject to interpretation. I’d say that all of these pious holier-than-thou activities would inconvenience the pilgrim’s employer/family, and hence, wouldn’t even bother thinking about setting off. But since I never had a choice in the first place, this reference is of little significance to my particular case.

That and some other minor rules, such as no pillows, no footwear, no hair-oil and some other restrictions sum up the 41 days that a pilgrim must lead, if one is to follow the rules to the letter, of course, which nobody does anymore. Then there is a puja involving the renunciation of all worldly desires by building a fire with camphor, and dancing around it, invoking god, but since this is optional, I’ll just brush over it.

Yes...I shall shortly be in possession of a similar bundle...

The final pre-flight checks include the preparation of the irumudi, which is essentially a two-compartment cloth bag containing all the items needed for the pilgrimage. The front compartment is supposed to contain items for the puja which include coconuts (including one drained of it’s water and refilled with ghee). There are several other items including, but not limited to, betel leaves, turmeric powder, rice, camphor. The rear portion of the bag is supposed to contain items required for the journey and such (including food).

After the final puja, the pilgrims are supposed to leave directly from the temple, without even turning to look at family members or anyone. I’ll describe the actual pilgrimage once I’m done with the whole business tomorrow.