Temple temper

A few months ago, I visited a famous temple off the Bangalore - Mangalore road. It must have once been a simple and beautiful structure, built by those who believed in their work. Over the last couple of decades, though, structure after structure had been built to milk the anxious devotee, until the temple’s own beauty, its ethereal charm, its sense of tranquility had all been drowned by the human mass atop an enterprise. Now, the main thoroughfare in front of the temple has become shamelessly commercial, cheap Chinese toys are sold everywhere and the dirty heaps of plastic carry bags – used everyday in their thousands to carry offerings into the temple and then thrown away - are an environmentalist’s nightmare. It’s hard to focus on The Conversation with the Higher One, under such circumstances.

We – my wife, son and I – nevertheless got into the queue of those seeking that audience of a split second with Him - a priceless second to thank, complain, ask (actually, plead), negotiate, cajole, promise, promise to keep the promise, weep and, at times, berate. It was a long queue that got noisier as we approached the Sanctum, with many craning their necks or hoisting their little ones onto their shoulders, often inflicting, in the process, some collateral damage, as I believe the term is, on those behind.
I have never been a ‘religious’ person (indeed, I truly don’t understand the definition. What makes a person religious or irreverent ?), nor am I comfortable with crowds. I had a tight hold on my son, and spent my time looking at the others in the queue.

Above all of us was a large signboard which stated, rather rudely I thought, that photography, including mobile-phone photography, was banned in the premises. While I tried to think of just why this signboard was necessary, I wouldn’t think of breaking this rule. One accepts what one has to.
…and then someone had to do it. A fellow near me – a middle aged, respectable looking chap – cupped his mobile camera in his hand in anticipation and, in that split second when he had a clear view, he clicked the picture and pocketed his camera with a smug look of intent achieved.
It took about five seconds for a pujari to catch him and then, to use a most inappropriate term when referring to the location, all hell broke loose. Two other robust looking men accosted the photographer and tried to snatch the camera away, while he pretended that he had done no wrong, all the while holding on to his mobile phone for dear life. The argument turned louder and nastier, primarily due to the fellow’s incapacity to accept his mistake and his unwillingness, when confronted with evidence, to delete the picture. Others joined in, of course, as will always happen anywhere in India and there were opinions both ways.

The bedlam around this incident and the crowd jostling for space were just a bit too much for me to bear, for I have no recollection of my moment with The Higher One. I was out of the inner Sanctum in a trice, and took in fresh air with vigour, happy to get away from the argument, but feeling quite irritated at the whole thing. I wonder just how devotees experience true inner bliss amidst such chaos.

On the way out of the temple, I was thinking of this little incident and mulling on just how unneccessary and dissatisfying it was for all concerned. I will never understand why our friend, the renegade photographer, visited the temple. Did he want to Converse, or was he chasing a momento, a screen saver that he could consult everytime he cut ethical corners in his daily living ?
I will also never understand why the pujari – The Representative, one would imagine – made a scene, used force and abused this man. Surely, his time is better spent at a higher level of engagement.

At a broader level, of course, the reality is that the vast majority of ‘devotees’ visit temples as a part of a running contract with The Higher Power, where money is their quid pro quo for the many favours asked, including the assuaging of guilt. In these temples of commerce, priests are the management team (with high performance bonuses) and the products – laddus, flowers, pujas - are profit centres.

I would opt, any day, for the friendly village temple with a part-time priest, who works in the fields for a living and spends his mornings and evenings at the shrine. He may be a bit fuzzy with the specifics of Sanskrit and the nuances of ritual, but his heart is generally in the right place. May his tribe increase.

Akash Mallige

This is the season of the Akash Mallige. Next to the laburnum, about which I have written earlier in Spring, the Akash Mallige is my tree of choice. If you happen to go on a walk and smell a divine, mild scent, at times inhibited by the smoke from vehicular traffic, but otherwise ethereal, look down at the semi-carpet of white flowers and then at the gorgeous tree that reaches for the sky, its flowers bunched downwards, much like a fashionable set of ear-rings. The fragrance always makes me grateful to the social forestry men of Bangalore who, with much perspicacity, planted many of these trees all around the city – indeed five tall ones stand majestically on the pavement in front of my home.

The Akash Mallige flowers twice a year, the monsoon being its piece de resistance. The flowering begins modestly enough and soon the tree is in bloom. Everything about the flower is delicate, its white with a streak of pink, the fragrance of course, the long stem and the almost entreating countenance it wears as you pick it up from the ground. Much to the amusement of passers-by, I select a few fresh flowers for use as an air freshener. If you do this as well, look into the flower before taking it away and you will often see an ant at work on the nectar within. The gentle thing to do then is to leave the flower alone, for food comes before fragrance.

The thing that I wonder about is how Nature can reproduce millions of these flowers with the same amount of fragrance and nectar. Just what kind of quality control is inherent in this system ? I hope we never know the answer, for Mystery adds to divinity.