The Karuna Swamy temple was located at the end of a small street in Karandai, just outside Thanjavur. Mr. Bhonsle had mentioned that it was a Chola era temple and so my interest was piqued. It is one of countless little temples that dot the villages and towns of the Kaveri delta, all of them rich in mythology and history, holding a special place in the lives and songs of the great Saivite saint-poets, the Nayanmars. Appar, one of the most renowned of the Nayanmars, sang of this temple in the 7th century, which meant that it has been around since at least then. Legend claims that one of the ancient Chola emperors from Sangam times, Karikala, was cured of his leprosy when he took a dip in the temple's tank. This gave the temple'a deity, Siva, his name, Karuna Swamy, the Compassionate Lord. Inside, the walls are rich with inscriptions from multiple later Chola kings of the 10th and 11th centuries, including Uttama Chola, the great Rajaraja's predecessor, Rajaraja himself, as well as his son Rajendra. Clearly, it was a temple of some note in those times.
Generations of people have come and gone since the days of the Nayanmars and Cholas, but the temple has remained alive, a vital source of sustenance and joy, an integral part of the ebb and flow of life of the town and its environs.
We arrived to a scene of lively chaos. The temple was brightly lit up with coloured lights and decorated with flowers and hanging garlands of woven banana leaf. Throngs of people were already there, and many more kept coming in. A veena concert was in progress on a pandal on one side, that was unfortunately of the ear-splitting variety. The veena player clearly had rock music aspirations which he achieved with a high degree of success (and noise) with his frenetic playing and the extreme amplification. His accompanists provided excellent support in escalating the decibel level. It was complete cacophony but in that fun carnival atmosphere, it was not about the sublimity of the music, but about just enjoying everything, the meeting of family and friends, the dressing up in fine clothes and jewelry, the lights, the action, the darshanam and blessings inside and eventually, whenever it happened, the actual procession of the idols. Till then there was this music, and later, a Bharata Natyam performance by a bunch of little girls and teenagers who were milling about in their costumes and jewelry, waiting for the clamour of the veena concert to end before they got their turn on the stage.
In the meantime, with the kind of osmotic news transmission that never fails to amaze me, people seemed to know that we would be there and hustled us past the lines of devotees waiting for a darshanam of the idol. I felt bad - people moved aside and allowed us to pass without a murmur, or a trace of resentment; they were accustomed to this imposition of position and power on their ordinary lives. We had our darshanam - I am now expert at touching the flame, cupping my hands correctly to receive the vibhuti and kumkum; and pressing my palms to any available surface nearby to slough off the excess. We were given a goody bag with a laddoo and half a coconut that was in a dubious state of freshness.
We had a second darshanam and then were taken to an outer chamber where a purple saree was stretched across several columns. There was a man guarding the area who shouted loudly at any hangers on to scram. He took his role with strident seriousness as his yells became more ear-piercing and irate at those stragglers who dared approach the area. Behind the sari-curtain: the most dazzlingly bedecked utsava murthys - processional bronze idols - I have ever seen. This is what I have read so much about, but there they were, smothered in flower garlands, lovingly draped with brightly colored, shimmering silks, adorned with glittering ornaments. Only their faces and tiny areas of their arms were visible. There was a Shiva and Parvathy; a Ganesha atop what looked like a deer and was most certainly not a rat, at least no rat that exists in this world; a Chandikesava; a Murugan and Valli on a technicolored peacock. All of them stood on what looked like a palanquin. They were stunning. There they waited, behind their purple sari curtain, waiting for their grand entry into the world outside the temple, the territory that was their holy jurisdiction.
After we admired the idols to our hearts' content, we moved into a corner to wait, and see what would happen next. The man who had been guarding the idols when we went to look at them now lost all interest in the job; the VIPS were done and so was he. Crowds of people snuck under the purple sari curtain and gazed to their hearts' content at their beloved gods and goddesses.
The din from the veena concert grew louder. Kids ran about screaming and laughing. Teenaged boys engaged in mock wrestling matches and chased each other around.. Devotees poured into the temple, seeking darshan, taking a peek at the utsava murthys, meeting and greeting friends and family. In the corner where we tarried awhile and watched, two nadaswaram players waited, patiently. Their moment would come when the idols finally made their first move outside. They would be the first to announce it. Till then, it was a slow period of sitting down and waiting....waiting......waiting.
7.30 had long come and gone and there was no hint of any activity that indicated that the idols would begin their journey. The veena player was now onto a deafening Bho Shambho with his percussionists in enthusiastically noisy support. The clamor grew to a climactic pitch that surely indicated that the end was nigh. But no. It was a faux climax, an anticlimactic false alarm as he launched into an even louder song. The girls in dance costume milled about as a group outside, waiting patiently for their turn to perform. There was a lot of patient waiting! There was no sign of the Raja/Prince. It was nearing 9 o’clock. This could go on all night. We decided that we had seen and heard enough, that we had waited for a decent length of time, and headed back to Hotel Gnanam, for a late dinner and bed.