The plan was to go to a few goddess temples in the morning and attend Herambanathan Sir’s class in the evening. Sinister Dude was our guide for the morning. He tried to push his agenda on us but Saskia was firm and insisted on sticking to her plan. We set out in 3 autos. Our driver had bloodshot eyes that seemed to blaze with anger. He was clad in a half-unbuttoned, not very clean shirt. Appointing himself gang-leader of the auto drivers, he set off at breakneck speed to an Ugra Kali temple. There were open fields around. The temple was empty, with no devotees, save for us. The Kali was fierce with fangs. An interesting happening: after the priest - who was a non-Brahmin as evidenced by the lack of a sacred thread (Pandaram??) - said his thing, he muttered something to a woman standing near us. She turned on a switch and a nadaswaram - tavil racket broke out. This was modern temple technology, apparently. The switch activated a contraption of a drum with a stick, bells, and other noise-making stuff. A Raja Melam that was an auto melam!
Next, it was off to a VadaBhadra Kali temple where Sowmya’s Seethamma Mayamma blared out from speakers. Here there was a large throng of devotees and once again, we were ushered past the people waiting in line to the front for our darshanam. This Kali was at an angle and also had fangs and was richly adorned. Then it was on to the Elaiamman temple, on the same street we were 2 days earlier, where Bala’s grandmother Kamakshi Ammal lived. The perimeter of this temple was full of stones carved with nagas - snakes. Under a huge peepal tree was a crush of more naga stones. Off to one side was a little shrine with three black lumps. The central lump was the biggest, and dressed in a gaudy, shiny green sari; the two lumps on the side each had a white dhoti wrapped around them. Sinister Dude told us the story; the lump on the left was Thanjan, a demon. He ruled this land and terrorized it. He was subdued (killed?) by Mathangi, the goddess in green (the lump on the right was her assistant Tharakan). Thanjan’s final request was that his former lands be named after him; hence Thanjavur. We saw Eliamman (there were some lovely but faded paintings on the walls of the hall outside) and then Sinister Dude, seeing that we were in fierce god mode, urged us to see a Narasimha temple. Saskia said ok, she knew there was one nearby but our autos hurtled their way to open roads at least 5-6 kms away to a very different Narasimha temple. Saskia was frustrated and furious, but we had no choice but to get darshanam.
It was a crazy drive back with the auto driver pressing his deafening horn almost constantly, shouting at anything and anyone who came his way. One elderly woman had to literally jump away when he shouted at her (in English) - get out! What a horrible man.
Then - it was onto a veena maker’s workshop, very near the old center of town (west main street?). The auto driver, his eyes even more bloodshot, strode into the house with an air of authority for ....nothing. We entered the main house where a hostile-looking woman asked: looking or buying? Saskia told her quite tartly that there wouldn’t be any buying without looking. We went around a narrow passage on the side to the back where the workshop was. There were veenas in various stages of being made. The wood is from the jackfruit tree. There are two types - one made entirely from a single block of wood (obviously more expensive) and the other with two joints that are glued/nailed together to make the whole. Then the wood is stained, and the instrument is decorated, yazhi made, bottom gourd painted. In past times, the bottom gourd was made of papier mache but that breaks down in humidity and with time. So modern ones are made with (forgot) some modern material that is durable. There was a Boy there, empty-eyed, swaying back and forth talking softly to himself. He showed us a lump of beeswax and a resin that are used to smoothen the strings. The old veenas had decorations made with ivory that were intricate and lovely but are obviously banned today.
Saskia was keen on gifting a good friend a veena. Not the modern shiny ones with their gaudy decorations but one of the more mellow-looking older ones that were a deep rich brown with the gentle sheen of age. After much argument and discussion - naturally, everybody spoke all at once, there is more talking than listening - a veena was procured from the house in front. Part of it was a beauty with intricate ivory work that is banned today on the large kudam or resonator. This part, the veena man, said was anything from 50-75 years old. This was a multi-joint veena and the rest of it was new, with the hideous bright pink design along the side. The price was actually quite reasonable, and after elaborate instructions were given about what was to be done we left the workshop and went back into the house for the bill signing. The veena man proudly showed us various newspaper clippings of articles about himself. He said one Aparna madam from the Hindu had also written about him. Here’s that article:
http://www.thehindu.com/features/magazine/the-veena-makers-of-thanjavur/article7407233.ece
Our auto driver who had been swaggering about as if the entire affair had been his doing, went into the house to fight for a cut. The veena man who had been all smiling charm until this point shooed him away with some choice language. The auto man looked more furious; he looked positively murderous. On the way back to the hotel he kept trying to pry information out of me: how much had Amma paid for the veena? When was she supposed to collect it? He could collect it himself and take it to her. i told him, firmly and curtly, that everything was settled, and that was that.
Back at the hotel, our auto driver gang-leader worked himself up to a froth demanding 1000 rupees for his morning’s work. He stood, feet planted wide apart, red eyes glowering, with the other two offering timid support behind him. Sinister Dude made a weak effort at mediating - he clearly did not want to get involved - and we settled for Rs 700 per auto.