Nine Lives(72)

“It contains the spirit of god? Or it is a god?”

“It is a god,” he replied firmly. “At least in the eyes of the faithful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Without faith, of course, it is just a sculpture. It’s the faith of devotees that turns it into a god.”

It seemed to me that Srikanda had mentioned three quite different ways in which an inanimate statute could become a god: by the channelling of divinity via the heart and hands of the sculptor; a ceremony of invocation when the eyes were chipped open; and through the faith of the devotee. I pointed this out to Srikanda, but he saw no contradiction; all that mattered was that at a certain point a miracle took place and the statue he had made became divine.

“Our mind should never go back to what it was or how it came into being,” he said. “It is the same as with a baby, or a small child. When it is young you play with it, but once it has grown up you treat it differently—as an adult, with more respect and more reverence.”

Outside in the street the rain had almost stopped. As we talked, a large, burly, bare-chested Brahmin, hair cut into a topknot, clambered up onto the temple rath. He began to take the old garlands off the two idols, and from a big, bulging plastic shopping bag he produced a fresh set: red hibiscus for the goddess and white jasmine for the god. These he placed reverently over the deities, then applied a new sandalwood-paste tikka to the forehead of each. As he was working, a temple elephant ambled along the street, a mahout on his back and his tail swishing from side to side; bells rang from around his neck. Within a few minutes, the street had begun to fill with curious onlookers; even the cricket players left their game to see what was happening.

The festival was in honour of Valli, the second wife of Murugan, who was believed to be a girl from this village. She was born from a deer made pregnant by the glance of the sage Sivamurti, and was adopted by the king of the hunters, Nambiraja. Valli was the most beautiful girl in all Tamil Nadu. One day, when she was out in her father’s fields, guarding the millet with her slingshot, Lord Murugan, the son of Shiva, happened to pass that way, and immediately fell in love with her.

To test her, he assumed the form of a feeble old man. First, he asked her for a drink of water, which she gladly gave him. He then asked for some food; this too she gave. Finally the old man asked for her hand in marriage, at which Valli of course hesitated, saying that how could she, such a young girl, marry such a very old man, and in any case she could only marry the man her father chose for her.

Realising that he needed some help, Murugan prayed to his brother Ganesh and immediately the latter appeared in the millet field, taking the form of a crazed wild elephant. Valli was terrified, and embracing the old man, promised him that she would indeed marry him if he saved her from the trumpeting elephant that was about to charge her and trample her underfoot. With a single wave of his outstretched hand, Murugan drove the elephant away, but once it had gone, Valli again hesitated, saying she could only marry a man her father chose. So Murugan prayed to Ganesh a second and then a third time, but each time Valli agreed and then hesitated about marrying such a very decrepit old man.

Only on the fourth occasion did Murugan finally reveal himself in all his divine beauty, and immediately, and inevitably, Valli fell in love. All this, said Mr. Krishnamurthy, had taken place in the fields of this very village and the festival they were holding today was to celebrate the divine marriage. Murugan and Valli were already waiting for the marriage ceremony in their temple at Swamimalai. It was the traditional privilege of this village to escort Valli’s family from their home to the great temple in town. Previously the villagers had had to take a pair of very simple iconic stone idols on the barat procession to the wedding. Now, thanks to Srikanda, they had glistening new bronze idols, the equal of any in Swamimalai.

“Normally we have to go to the temple to pray to the gods,” said Mr. Krishnamurthy, “but today they come to us in our houses in the village. For us it is the most auspicious day of the year.”

“If you pray here today,” added Srikanda, “your prayers will certainly be successful.”

“More than on other days?”

“Of course,” said Srikanda. “God is everywhere, but just as we feel that an idol can be the focus for a god’s power, so there are certain days when your prayers are more readily heard and fulfilled.”

It was, I thought, a lovely idea: that just as there were sacred images and sacred places there were also pools of sacred time. For faithful Hindus it was as if a window momentarily clicked open in the heavens, allowing devotees direct access to the divine.