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Read the first story in this series here, and part 1 of this story here.
Just as they had taken off their slippers, the main door opened, and a young lady came out to welcome them in, she did not look like a local and spoke in Hindi.
Lipika Deshmukh, the Marathi descendent of the purohit family who have performed pooja here for thirty odd generations, stood with a register in hand asking them to note down details in it - date of visit, place of residence and other information. Shodashi, intrigued by this lady’s presence probed a bit for more information, this temple visit was now no longer simply fulfilling her mother’s desire, Shodashi’s own investigative juices were triggered. Not having researched much on this temple, she was quite surprised to learn that priests had to be brought in from outside the state, all the way from Maharashtra, to perform narabali as required per this temple’s customs.
“We also do Durga Pooja but with Bengali rituals, although a lot of Khasi elements are also evident. For example during navaratri, we do not have a murti of the devi, instead we use the stem of the banana plant, we decorate it with marigold flowers and also conduct its visarjan, as one would the Durga pratima. ….”, ignoring the awed look on Lalitha and Shodashi’s faces, Lipika continued, “…we immerse her in the Myntdu river close by..sending Maa off with a gun salute…..and in case you have not heard, waters and soil from this river and the Myntang were sent to Ayodhya for the Bhumi Pujan too….”, notwithstanding the even more shocked faces of the two women lapping up her every utterance, Lipika continued, “…the Pnar tribals here are great Rama bhaktas…”
All Shodashi and Lalitha could manage by a way of reply was, ‘Oh’! It had not occurred to both of them that there could be Marathi people in this corner of the country, and that there was a connection with Ayodhya too, it all seemed very surreal to them, in fact they seemed embarrassed by their ignorance of their own land.
So after the mandatory pradakshinas around the platform which housed just a stump, not a murti, they sat in a corner like good school children, chanting the lalita sahasranamam as previously planned. Shodashi though, trying to follow her mother mentally, started walking around the place excited to learn more about this very unique shakti peetham. With some hesitation she managed to ask Lipika, who continued to stand at the side holding the register, waiting for the pilgrims to sign in.
“So ….er..hmm..…bali is offered here?”, she sincerely hoped that Lipika would not be offended.
Thankfully, the scion of the Deshmukh family was far too rooted in her own belief system to take offence, she replied with a simple yes without rushing to explain why or give Shodashi the rationale behind the custom. Shodashi though was too squeamish to ask about narabali, and decided to not delve into that aspect at all.
Lipika sensing the confusion offered on her own accord, “The chief patron of the temple here is the local Khasi chieftain, the Syiem, he sacrifices goats, yes, it is their custom….but no, no narabali has happened for a while now…”. She sounded matter of fact to the astounded Telugu women, who could barely say the word aloud!
After Shodashi had signed in the register, Lipika suggested to them to go see the ‘largest monoliths in the world’ that were close by, “You might enjoy that, since you seem to want to know more about our culture”. The way she said ‘our’, owning the place and the people, with Deshmukh as her surname, brought a smile to Shodashi’s sombre face. “Yes, we might ..let me ask the driver if he is able to take us…hope it is not too far…”, Shodashi leapt up to put on her footwear and sought the driver. “It is walkable …but for city people it might not be comfortable…” Lipika’s derisive statement caught her up from behind. “I am a walker, thank you, see you next time”, Shodashi interjected, turning around to wave a friendly bye.
There was no prasad, no kumkum nor vibhuti, there was but a lamp, lit bright against the hazy environs. What had caught Shodashi’s eye was the mask. White it was and kept close to the lamp, on the raised platform.
This was a temple built by a king because the goddess appeared in his dreams and asked for it. This was a temple built in the summer capital of the Hindu Jaintia rulers six hundred years ago. This was a temple which was once probably a part of a fort, with canons and all. This was a temple with devi’s consort called Kamadishvar. This was a temple which was now a heritage site also. Would this fact help preserve it and resurrect it from oblivion, or would it wipe off this pristine piece of land with a stroke of commercial accoutrements, only time would tell.
Shodashi had tried to figure out from previous signatures in the register what type of people frequented this little known spot but there was no pattern to be found there. A few scribbles, hardly any legitimate entries, and with no poojas being conducted for the yatris, there was not much else to do but take leave.
Outside, the rain had stopped, the clouds had opened up, revealing an azure sky. From yonder wafted Bihari songs, the chaiwala offered a cuppa to the driver with a wan smile. Lalitha too settled for a hot tea slinking back into the dingy cab interiors, giving her back a much needed rest. The years were screaming at her, to relax.
The mask danced in Shodashi’s head while she walked towards the monoliths. When her phone pinged.
“The vertical ones are male and the flat ones female, it is ancestor worship, and probably the largest collection of such in the world, with the tallest one about 8 metres or so … .do NOT miss it”, Shambhavi her younger sister had texted, strangely, just in time.
Sitting among these memory rocks, Shodashi tried to shake off the mask from her mind, but could not. In fact the mask became more and more real and took on a form of its own. Good thing maa was in the car, safe and warm. Shrugging off the eerie feeling, Shodashi continued to walk among the mysterious monoliths. Each family had a dedicated space for their ancestor worship.
I am an intruder.
Yes you are!
Shodashi looked up with a sudden shrug, trying to ward off any fear. Who was it that had answered her innermost thought? She should walk back, it was getting dark. It got dark so early in these parts, and the mist made it even darker. And it was not yet four pm.
I bet that mask was to emulate a human.
Yes it was!
Walking briskly now among the circles to make a straight path towards her car, which was parked at the temple a kilometre or more away, Shodashi sensed a presence that was benign, alive, yet clearly sentient.
Why would a devi want a human to sacrifice precious life?
Many men and women gave up their lives willingly.
This conversation would go nowhere and would not end unless Shodashi was brave enough to face the unknown voice and get done with it, here and now.
Men or women, goats or chickens, I do not see the need to kill.
But you do too, everyday every minute. Your whole existence is based on someone dying so you may live. From the tiniest worm to the grandest creature. The world exists on that premise, it is the order, the law. You cannot change it because you are queasy.
But what of ahimsa? Of peace and non-violence?
How can you not feed the hunger of the gods or appease them to assist against brutalities that you face daily? Does ahimsa ensure eternal shanti? Does it not simply bring out decimation of your kind? Does it ask adharma to be overlooked? Will you stand and watch by the wayside if adharma is happening right in front of you?
I am not convinced.
Women jumped into fire willingly to prevent dishonour, men fought to death with pride for honour, animals were sacrificed for science in laboratories, animals continue to be sacrificed on the kitchen tables for gastronomy . The methods, procedures, they are different, but the actual act is the same.
The Bhagavad Geeta says this is unnecessary, in fact taking life is wrong.
Bhagavad Geeta also says that all life and its activities is a yajna, a holy sacrifice, a giving up of something to gain something higher, bigger, better. This is no wanton killing, there is a specific need, a specific rite and great respect for all life all around. Ahimsa is not for everyone, if you are a renunciate, a sannyasi, or a brahmana, you may take a vow of non-violence - which is of thought, word and action. If not it is simply convenient chest beating to sound good.
I am not a renunciate, yet I abhor this killing.
For the one who is striving to be a guna brahmana, one with the satvika qualities of composure, contemplation, and quietude, of course bloodletting will irk…of course. But as a wannabe brahmana you will surely appreciate and understand diversity, and the freedom that you must accord others, especially when they are not resorting to criminal activities or adharma, but simply following shastra and its injunctions.
Freedom does not mean that anyone can do anything and that I must accept it.
To the extent that you give freedom to others to be what they are, to that extent you are free!
The voice which seemed to come from the menhir, now wearing the white mask, seemed to be quoting all the holy men of Bharat. Did not Pujya Swami Dayananda Saraswati ji, her own guru, say this! But there was no place to sit and ponder, so she had to wander. Her thoughts a jumble.
I have killed spiders, ants, worms, mice, small insects without remorse, and for a purpose. To keep my house safe. Is that not papam too? Of course it is, but a necessary one. But bigger animals, and the one on top of the pyramid…that is a lot of prana…so much life…yet is not all life the same, only the upadhis are different? There is the same sat chit ananda in all of us but the containers, the name and form, are diverse. So killing an ant and a human is the same? Yes, in terms of murder. Ethically too, if the killing is wanton. It is not killing if it is voluntary giving up of the body, and it is not killing if it is for loka kalyanam, for a higher purpose. It is not killing even to satiate one’s hunger. If due permission is requested to take life, it is not killing, it is a much needed yajna.……with growing clarity came the blessings, and Shodashi’s face cleared up.
The grey stones accessoried with moss shone in the evening sunlight mixed with raindrops, coming alive to dance in circles for her, reminding her of Stonehenge. No, she had not been there, but she had read all about it. She kept walking to clear her head and unknowingly did circumambulations to the tall speaking menhir, which seemed almost human to her.
Who built these, why did they do it. And look who is here to admire them, all the way from Hyderabad to this corner of the land! This connection, this moment overwhelmed Shodashi and it all started making sense. Bowing internally to the talking mask and menhirs, she bid adieu as she hurried back to her mother.
There is so much we do not know…so much. And yet we go about making judgements, decisions, and plans. Oh! How I wish I could simply have hot rasam now thought Shodashi tired from the walk and the vision, as she approached the car.
“Where were you? We must leave soon, it is already very late”, Lalitha hastened her daughter into the backseat with a quick reprimand. “Our driver tells me that there is a wonderful vegetarian restaurant run by a Tamil-Khasi man, a few hours away….he wanted to take us there before it gets dark…I am tired of eating bread and bananas….are you even listening?”
Shodashi sat without a word for the next few hours while they traversed other sight seeing spots and until her stomach rumbled. It was loud enough for the driver to hear. He revved up the speed immediately and soon they were at their destination. Getting out of the car reluctantly, dragging her feet and sighing loudly, unable to shake off the voicing white mask or the speaking menhir from her head, Shodashi plonked down on the only free table available, in this very crowded restaurant.
And when the thali arrived and she tasted the rasam, she left all her doubts behind her and came back to the real word with a thud! What a find this place was, she was half expecting to go hungry today too. Lost in the day-to-day world once again, mother-daughter lapped up morsels of rice and rasam without a care. “Maa, let us meet the manager before we go, I want to compliment him on his delicious vegetarian fare!”Lalitha could not agree more.