In the long line to God

The author accompanies her grandmother to a temple and experiences an emotional upheaval

October 31, 2014 06:42 pm | Updated May 23, 2016 06:37 pm IST - COIMBATORE

Illustration for Metro Plus, cmb

Illustration for Metro Plus, cmb

A chorus of Narayana, Narayana rises in the air. The temple bell strikes as the nada or the sanctum sanctorum opens wide for darshan. Grandmothers, wearing white mundum veshtis , queue up in a circle around the temple.

Young girls in bright pattu pavadais and men in mundus fold their hands, waiting to catch a fleeting glimpse of the lord. The mood is of utmost piety. A few, overcome with emotion, weep while others chant mantras aloud.

And then suddenly an announcement breaks in. “The nada will be closed today at 10 because of a special pooja after that. This is your only chance today to see the idol!” There is panic and excitement. The devotees, singing slokas, rush to the sanctum sanctorum. Old ladies fold up their veshtis up to their knees and jump queues. “Let us in! This is senior citizen’s line,” demands my grandmother as the grouchy guard blocks her from entering the line. He makes a face but then yields to her demand.

It is a sought after temple. Even celebrities brave the long lines to get a glimpse of the idol. Poems have been penned in praise of the deity here. It is the coolest place for any septuagenarian; something like what Café Coffee Day is for us.

So when your grandmother declares it is going to be a temple weekend, one just meekly obeys.

So here I am, on a pleasant Friday morning, sandwiched between 50 to 60 old women, shirtless men and temple guards waiting for the much awaited darshan. After almost half and hour, the queue inches forward and with each step, the “Narayana” grows more fervent and the queue gets thicker. Finally, at the entry point of the sanctum sanctorum, the other queues merge with the senior citizen one.

Now most of us have stopped breathing. Few of us have our feet on the ground, but lean on the backs of the devotees in front of us. My grandmother falls on me and I on somebody else’s grandmother. My grandmother who has crossed 70 has completely forgotten about her rheumatoid as she enthusiastically encourages me, “It is okay. You stand like this. We will finally reach there!” She has her faith to lean on. What about me?

And just then, intruding my dark thoughts, a toddler who has been slumbering so far, wakes up and begins to bawl. And as if on cue, all the toddlers in the vicinity join him. The fathers try to rock them to sleep singing old lullabies while a fight erupts between a possessive mother and an old lady.

“Can’t you see the weeping child? Don’t you have an ounce of humanity? Let us in first!” the woman barks as the old lady jostles for space. “Stop pushing me you moron”, the old lady retorts, through clenched teeth.

Lack of oxygen and the increasing bestiality has inspired some to attempt to desert the queue altogether and go back. But they lose all hope once they see the ocean of people they have to walk through. And moreover there are the burly temple guards who yell at people who break away from the line! They fence our line with a rope so that no one enters or leave the queue. Finally we reached the Sanctum Sanctorum. You have a minute to look at the idol, make a fleeting wish and scoot or else a fat lady in blue sari will shove you off. She screams, “That’s all you need to see, make way for others.”

I am ejected out of the temple, thankfully, along with my grandmother. I find others like me recovering from the traumatic experience.

One grandchild asks her grandmother nervously, “Are we coming here again ammamma ?” The lady who was grimacing with pain till then flashes a wide toothless grin, and says, “Lets’...next week?”

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