I have visited various places in India, some as near as Pondicherry (a 4 hour drive) and some as remote as Badarinath (a journey extended over many days). The most common reason for my travels has been (now that I recall it) religious, in fulfillment of a vow or to seek the benediction of a powerful deity or simply because we could also visit a relative nearby. Such peregrinations have led me to various states of our country -- Karnataka, Andhra, Maharashtra, Uttar Pradesh... Never once did I get to visit the neighbouring state of Kerala, till this week.

 

The main object of my visit was to worship Krishna in His abode at Guruvayur. From my visits to various pilgrimage centres in Tamilnadu, I had developed some notions about such places. A small town with narrow streets bearing poorly the great mass of humanity that descended upon it year after year. The lanes leading to the temple choked with various shops whose rubbish was dumped in the middle of the street. Sometimes space inside the temple compound itself leased to these shops selling anything from flowers to textiles to fancy articles. The temple itself in a sorry state with the grandeur of the gopuram and columned halls marred by layers of synthetic paint in garish colours, the original granite surface covered by polished marble (or worse, bathroom tiles). This condition further compounded by insensitive pilgrims and exploitative autorickshaw-men. I had expected the temple towns in Kerala to be no different.

 

I was happily proved wrong.

 

With light luggage, I, along with my parents, boarded the Trivandrum Mail on the evening of 12th June at Madras Central. On the train I learnt to the read the Malayalam script fearing that the nameboards may be only in the local language. (Again, I was surprised to realise later that it was not necessary: Most boards were inscribed in English and Tamil, besides Malayalam. And we communicated everywhere in Tamil and people could follow us -- for it is not too different from their own tongue.) We alighted at Trissur next morning and took a cab to Guruvayur, travelling along some of the cleanest roads.

 

Clad in veshti and angavastram, I entered the famed temple only to be greeted by a lengthy queue for darshan. Having been mentally prepared for a long wait, I stood in line, brooding over various things. Looking at the structures around, I found most of them preserved in their original state. No gaudy paints or marble flooring. Even recently added parts blended congruously with the old design. The tiered sloping tiled roofs strangely reminded me of the architecture of Japanese pagodas I had seen in the 'papers. The Malayali ladies were in their traditional dress, a two-piece garment unlike the saree, with a veshti-like cloth draped around the waist and a smaller piece covering the shoulder. I spent time refreshing whatever little Malayalam I learnt by reading the signs cautioning pilgrims to be careful with their valuables.

 

After a two-hour wait, we entered the sanctum sanctorum (garbha-grha). With people jumping up and down to get more "darshan-seconds" I could get but a glimpse of the Lord before I was driven out by a temple official muttering the Malayalam equivalent of the well-known Tirupati "jaraganDi."

 

The  pilgrimage is not considered complete without a visit to the nearby temple of Siva at Mammiyur (a corruption of Mahima-oor). The reason being that Siva ceded, on request of Guru (Brhaspati) and Vayu, the land now containing the Krishna temple and moved to the location where the Mammiyur temple stands and in gratitude of this gesture, people are required to worship Siva at this neighbouring village.

 

In Kerala, there are no temples exclusively vaishnava or saiva. One can find deities worshipped by both sects. Perhaps this is the reason why it is rare to find people displaying on their forehead allegience restricted to one of Siva or Vishnu -- they all uniformly wear sandalwood paste.

 

After a traditional plaintain-leaf lunch at a hotel and some rest, we left for Trissur by bus. The prominent spot of any South Indian town is mostly a temple; we were directed to the ancient sprawling shrine of Vadakkunatha (Siva). With the well-preserved antiquity of its structures and the divine serenity of the atmosphere, it evoked memories of the Big Temple of Thanjavur. It was on praying to Vadakkunatha that Aryamba and Sivaguru, long childless, gave birth to a son who grew into the towering philosopher and saint -- Adi Sankara. There are two theories as to the end of the sage: One says he disappeared into a cave in the Himalayas while the other maintains he passed away at Kanchi after ascending the Sarvajna Peeta (the Seat of Omniscience). I realised perhaps there was a third theory as well after finding his 'samadhi' at that temple.

 

The pleasant, though short, trip to Kerala was given a fitting finale by an autorickshaw driver. On our journey to the railway station to catch the train back home, we asked him why he had not turned on the meter. He said the station was not far, and asked us to pay just the minimum fare (seven rupees) --  a refreshing contrast of his fleecing counterparts of the Tamilnadu capital.

 

As we boarded the Trivandrum Mail headed for Madras, the heavens burst into heavy showers to celebrate our departure...