87 The Temple and the River
[Gnanananda Ashram, Tirukoilur District] Not long after I arrived here an angel came to visit me at my kutir, and when we had completed the usual introductions and formalities he proceeded to give his message:
“It’s only when you find yourself being driven through life that you can be sure that the Lord is actively guiding you; if you find dissatisfaction wherever you go, if you can never find peace, but are always in a state of discontent, you can be sure that is the Lord’s doing – you may not like it, you may even try and fight against it, but eventually you must see that the only thing to do is to surrender yourself completely to the Lord and let him do whatever He deems necessary to purify you of all the dross, of all the attachments that still cling to you. So if your life is something of a stormy affair and you find yourself being driven from pillar to post, do not be surprised, but give thanks for it, because you can be sure it’s for your own good. Only if you start to become settled and comfortable should you worry, for that will show that you have found an escape from the One who seeks to mould you into His own image and likeness, and then you will progress no further, and you will have to be reborn again and again until finally your resistance comes to an end and the Lord in His mercy has triumphed.”
I am walking lightly,
slowly across the river;
the loudest sound around:
my feet crunching through the sand.
On a small rocky hill
an old temple beckons me,
it looks as though it’s near,
but it takes time to reach it.
From when I first saw it
it seemed there was a statue,
a huge face in outline,
but just as I get close up
the carving disappears –
a broken wall takes its place;
a shell of a building
long disused and abandoned.
Beyond the wall are sounds
of a fire and of people.
In solitude I leave
and walk to the riverside;
under a banyan tree
there stand a god and a man,
face to face, eye to eye,
– there is power in this place.
It was really only because of the river that I stayed here. The first day and night had been something of a nightmare; when I had arrived in the morning I was asked to wait for an hour, and then for another, and another... It went on like this until seven hours had passed by before I was given a kutir and could even think about having a wash and tidying up after the journey, but then I was told to come to supper straight away, so I went, but of course another hour passed before it was served. I eventually got my shower at 9.00pm and went straight to bed. Unfortunately the mosquitoes came with me, not one or two, but scores of them, and I had no net, and there was nowhere I could go. When I got up in the morning my eyes and lips, my hands and feet, were all swollen, and I was on the verge of leaving.
But it was early and I would have to inform than before going, and there was no one about at that time. The first light of dawn was coming in and to escape from further torment I went for a walk along the path that ran past my kutir, and in five minutes I found myself riverside. At this time of year the river is dry of course, the last rains having fallen 8 or 9 months ago, and so I stepped out into the sandy riverbed. The sky was clear with not a cloud in it, and as soon as I got out from under the tree cover an immense silence descended as it always does when I find myself under the open heavens. It was wonderful, and such a strong contrast with the frustration and agitation that had preceded it, and I walked until I got out to the centre and then turned upstream immersed in this unexpected clarity. Across the river a small flock of wagtails flew in higgledy-piggledy fashion from one bank to the other, calling to one another as they went, and in the distance there was the sound of the temple bells calling people to prayer.
The world has yet to awaken
but the silence is full of praise;
in the clear night air is the moon
lighting my way along the sands.
I am just like a speck of dust
blown across this vast universe
– tell me, how could one ever hope
to capture all of this in words?
Tonight, half way through puja, the electricity failed, leaving the temple in darkness except for two star-like points coming from the oil lamps burning in the main shrine. Somehow the darkness fell so suddenly and unexpectedly that everybody round about went quiet and we sat as though suspended in space watching the shadow play in the sanctuary. The priest, his half-naked torso glowing in the half light, continued unperturbed, chanting, waving incense, and throwing flowers. The mantras he was repeating are among the earliest recorded utterances of mankind and for the past 3,000 years at least they have been passed on from generation to generation and have been sanctified by continual pious usage, and they now have a unique power and beauty that inheres in them, and that stirs the heart of all who here them. As we sat there floating in the empty dark space with our attention on these chants which were being made new once more, it seemed to me that we had gone beyond the normal limits of time and space and were being given a glimpse of what life was like in eternity.
One Evening in the Temple (12 scenes)
The priest recites sacred mantras
and throws flowers at the lingam.
A group sit in the temple hall
and chat and laugh away the hours.
Children are there playing, shouting,
– they’re having fun in the temple.
At nearby shrine two friends say their
daily prayers and then prostrate.
A man comes in, unseen before,
and hand to hand, he gives his thanks.
Another walks a long, long way
around all the gods who might help him.
Young girls sing songs praising the Lord,
raising their voices in unison.
Then two ladies sing ancient hymns
with great fervour and devotion.
Mothers and girls go clap, clap, clap,
and sing and dance around the jyoti.
The priest now waves a light before
the blessed sign while bells are rung.
We gather round and take the grace
of God Most High into our eyes.
Then all retire back to their homes
while I sit still in the silence.