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This piece is the second in a fiction series of short stories around Devī, inspired by a recent visit to Nartiang Jayanti temple near Shillong, Meghalaya. Read the first story based on Tripura Sundari, Tripura here.
Shodashi was not too keen on yet another temple visit. They had just had darshan at Matabari and she thought perhaps her mother could do with some adventure; root bridges and sacred forests and such, wouldn’t that be lovely, amma? Of course Lalitha frowned at the suggestion.
“You told me we would be visiting ALL the shakti peethas in the North East one by one, we had darshan of Ma’s toe, now it is time to pay respects to her thigh…you gave your word…..” Lalitha had been looking forward to this trip ever since Shodashi had stormed into her room in Hyderabad a few months ago making tall promises.
“But Nartiang does not feature among the eighteen main sacred sites where Ma’s body parts fell, I checked yesterday and re-checked today……” Shodashi had indeed spent most of the previous night browsing her phone, stuck in their stuffy hotel room in Shillong. Her main desire was to trek half a day down into the valley to view the incredible double decker root bridge. After all nature is lalita isn’t she. But how was she to convince her seventy seven year old mother!
“Nartiang appears in the Tantrachudamani list…I checked too” Lalitha retorted, miffed at her daughter’s summary dismissal. She carried her iPad with her everywhere, especially to keep up with the daily Telugu pravachanams by Samavedam garu and others. Lalitha did not want to fall behind her friends while she travelled. They exchanged notes and quizzes on such talks, daily, by WhatsApp.
Lalitha’s first question wherever they went was - what is the wifi password? I do not want to use my data. Shodashi had laughed it off initially, proud of her mother keeping up with technology and using gadgets with ease, but now it was beginning to grate a bit.
“Yes maa, I know that you know how to google, point is are we following the main list or the secondary list or the list which says there are hundred and eight….” Lalitha cut her daughter off before she could state her case, “We follow YOUR list, YOU said we would, so we must”.
Well, that was that. Shodashi had no comeback to that. A word given must be honoured. Sometimes such customs weighed heavily on her, yes it is good to keep one’s word, and there is precedence; from the likes of Raghupati Raghava Raja Rama onwards, and how, but still…shouldn’t there be some breathing room…some flexibility…some adjustment…Shodashi preferred spontaneity, but her own roots, which were double decker and deep, pulled her towards tradition despite herself. She knew what was to be done, what was right, yet she rebelled.
“I know you miss being in nature, you are fed up with the concrete jungle that Hyderabad has become. We can go to your bridges and forests after the temple visit, I don’t mind staying an extra day…if you want…” Lalitha interjected the long silence, sensing her daughter’s inner turmoil.
“There is nothing for you to eat here, except for oily puris and water potatoes every morning maa, the farther we go from Shillong the tougher it will be to find something vegetarian, all the hill tribes subsist on meat - the Khasis, Jaintias, Garos. If we stay longer we might have to buy some bread and jam…and fruits…” Shodashi started making a list immediately, her most favourite pastime.
“When my grandparents walked all the way to Pashupatinath in Nepal from Vijayawada in the 50s, did they worry about what they would eat? They ate what was offered to them…they cooked their food along the way…they always had something to eat…” Lalitha was wistful remembering her ancestors and their famed yatra.
“Well, it is not the 50s, no one cares about yatris anymore, and most definitely not in a state which is 99% Christian maa”, Shodashi was losing her patience with all the reminiscing that her aged parents were indulging in these days. What is gone is gone, she was not sentimental like her parents.
In a last ditch effort Shodashi brought out her trump card, “Did you also read that there used to be narabali in Nartiang? You get so queasy with even chickens being offered at Peddamma gudi, and at Matabari I had to steer you away from the goats which were being taken for ritual sacrifice…I remember at Kalighat you had your eyes shut so that you did not have to see the blood that was oozing from…” Lalitha nipped the sentence with a deft interruption.
“We do not do vamachara, our sampradaya is different, we have even substituted ash gourds and pumpkins instead of animals, I was not raised with such rituals….” Shodashi took over the volley dexterously and gave it back.
“Exactly, since we do not follow all this …why do you want to go to a place that does…I mean animals are still alright…but hu… … .I am not sure I want to encourage such mediaeval mores by going there…” Lalitha’s daughter was now adamant to prove her point, she sounded like a foreigner to her, wanting an explanation for everything instead of simply experiencing!
So she started to disabuse Shodashi of her wrong views with immense patience; “First of all, all life is sacred, why are animals lesser and human superior? Our religion, our dharma, does not say so. Secondly, certain sects follow certain rites, it is their right, what gives us a right to question them, will we like it if they criticize us? Thirdly, you are fine with people eating meat saying it is their choice, animals are murdered there too…is it not, why then this double standards, because you do not see it being murdered? Here too it is their choice, except there is a ritualized process, that is all. My fourth point is that the lower being sacrifices itself for the higher, it is the nature of life, they choose to be offered. Assuming only humans can choose goes against what we believe in - all the Puranas and Itihasas, the Panchatantra and local Kathas, tell us that all beings choose their karmic cycle, we are not puppets in someone else’s hands . Fifth and final did you not dissect rats and frogs in school, for science you said, what is that? Is that not an experiment to learn and grow, with an end in sight, this is also like that. A ritual, a rite, a hoary custom is like a science experiment, with its own laboratories and tools, with its own do’s and don’ts. Don’t bring your modern sensibilities here…”, taking a long breath Lalitha pursed her lips conveying the ‘end of discussion’. She was after all a daughter of a lawyer, of the High Court of undivided Andhra Pradesh.
Shodashi, trying to grasp the logic of it all, started to reflect on what her mother had just rattled off, but she was not convinced just yet.
On the way to Nartiang, the mother-daughter duo did not speak much. The mesmerising beauty of their environs made them let go of their bickerings for a bit. Looking out of their car window, all they could see for miles was mist. Spread over rolling hills and nary a human in sight, the cool temperatures outside calmed the hot tempers inside very quickly.
“This is how Scotland is apparently…. ”, Shodashi supplied this information wistfully, by way of an apology too. Lalitha started laughing, “When did you go? Is this all from your books and your internet?” They both smiled, each looking away into the horizon, in opposite directions.
The lush green countryside, afresh with gentle rains, the narrow roads winding a braid from the farmland, the lone taxi with the two eager passengers, at the end of this idyllic scene a fiery goddess-in-waiting.
Both the women took deep breaths and offered sighs of relaxation to the atmosphere, after days of hectic hullabaloo that had engulfed their lives back home. It was not easy to find wide open spaces in India, there were people everywhere or the land was built up, to witness miles after miles of plain greenery, spread by the salesman lovingly like a silk sari in Nallis, this was a blessing, a privilege. Shodashi was thankful that she could find time and the resources to travel with her mother, Lalitha on the other hand was grateful that she had a daughter who was considerate enough to bring her on such yatras. Each one appreciating the other looked towards her companion, beholden to this moment, this journey.
The driver who was loquacious was unusually quiet. Perhaps he too sensed the profundity of the situation. The loud quietness engulfed him, as did the mist, the mountains. He stopped humming and let the surroundings sing their song. All three kept going in perfect harmony.
Before they could reach the temple Indra decided to show up and there was a downpour. Driving gingerly in the mix of rain and fog the insides of the taxi became warm with vapours of their breath. The weather here was unpredictable like a bulb about to fuse. In the morning it was cloudy, they had packed raincoats and umbrellas in their backpack along with water bottles and snacks, but right after their inedible breakfast it was so sunny that Shodashi had emptied the backpack of its contents, since she did not want to lug heavy weights, just in case they chanced upon a root bridge or two. Now, it was wet and slushy, with a small temple in red and white showing itself coyly through the rain drops.
Thankfully the driver had an umbrella on his person. Shodashi remembered the early morning scene in Shillong, how everyone carried one, including school kids who were sometimes shorter than the umbrellas they walked with!
Lalitha got down from the car excited, unmindful of the muddy path and her wet sari, the driver ran to her side of the door trying to open this black contraption which was stuck uncharacteristically, refusing to heed his demands. Lalitha started hurrying towards the entrance, not because of the rain, but due to bhakti, she was eager for darshan. The driver ran after her, finally successful in his endeavour, to shield her from the rain gods. Shodashi, still safe and dry in the car, started adjusting the frame of her phone camera for photos, such moments called for a picture to be preserved for eternity…or at least in her lifetime. The beauty of it all lay heavy on her heart with lightness. It tickled her and ambushed her with its deliciousness. The least she could do was to capture it. Click. Click. Click.
“…mundu aa phone pakkana pettu …enni photos teestaavu….raa tvaragaa..”, Lalitha called out agitatedly to her daughter. She had never comprehended her elder daughter’s need to hold onto every moment. What was more important Maa or the Moment?
“.…lopala vellamma….lalita chaduvuko vastunnaa…”, Shodashi was unmindful, and by now had developed a thick skin when it came to such orders from her mother. Why couldn’t her mother go in and start her chanting of the Lalita Sahasranamam, which is what she had come here for, isn’t it. Sometimes Shodashi wanted to be left alone, to simply take it all in, to observe, to ruminate, to just be. Oh, yes, to take photos too.
She was good at seizing the in-between moments of her unsuspecting subjects. Shodashi did not waste time pointing the camera at someone and then adjusting it for frame, angle, light, story. She held it all in her head prior to the quick click she made -without a flash - before the deed was executed. Here she was satisfied with the dreamy landscape photo of her mother scurrying in the rain holding up her sari, with the driver behind her holding up his umbrella, with the temple entrance as the backdrop, set against the temple arch at the entrance. What a story, thought Shodashi delighted at the scene and herself.
Just as they had taken off their slippers, the main door opened.
To read what happens next, stay tuned for our Part Two of this short story!