Skywatch Friday - From the tip of India

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I was in the southernmost tip of India , at the confluence of three oceans  - Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean in a coastal town called Kanyakumari. And the view from one of its fishing hamlets - Chinna Muttom is here for you to soak in along with the hues of the sunset . If you are here on a full moon day, you may be lucky to see the sun set and the moon rise around the same time .

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My column on a cult worshipping a mirror aka soul was published in The Hindu. Here is the story for those who missed it

The salts of the sea lure me as I can smellit from a distance. Here, in the confluence of three oceans, lies buriedseveral myths, legends and stories.  Kanyakumari  hasalways been a mystery to me. Maybe it has something to do with the sea or the taleof the virgin goddess by the sea shore, but the town has never stoppedfascinating me. Looking out of the window, I am lost in the many rotatingwindmills, dancing to the tune of the sea breeze, when I am interrupted by thelaughter in the bus. 

I join in the laughter as Sri Charanya , mytravel companion shares her memories of Kanyakumari when she visited thecoastal town as a twelve year old. “ You know I was told that I could see red ,black and blue colours here , the red was the Indian Ocean, the blue being  the Bay of Bengal and the black , the Arabian sea  and I believed  every word of it then , “ she says as echoesof laughter drown her story. Memories come flooding back as I remember my firstvisit here as a wide eyed twelve year old . 

I am on a Naanjil Naadu tour organised byINTACH, travelling through small towns and villages around Nagercoil andKanyakumari, visiting many temples, rock cut shrines, mosques, palaces and forts. While we alternate between facts and folk lore, we learn from a team ofprofessors and historians accompanying us about the various dynasties that rulethe region. I am of course fascinated by the many landscapes painted in frontof me – natural, social , historical, political, spiritual , as I realize thatwhat is today considered God’s own country has its origins right here inNaanjil Naadu, long before Kerala came into being.  

We visit an ancient Chola temple dedicatedto Shiva or Guhanathaeswaran  templeas  Dr V Vedachalam, Retired SeniorEpigraphist from Tamil Nadu State Archaeology Department  explains the architecture and draws ourattention to the inscriptions and various cults of Gods and Goddesses.  It is really Gods own country. The temples inthis region are built by various kings across different eras and each one ofthem has left his stamp behind. From the Ay rules, to early Pandyas to theVenad kings, the land is steeped in cults. 

And I discover another 19^thcentury cult right on the shores of a small fishing hamlet called Chinna Muttom.

While most of my travel companions are lostin the beauty around, a few of us walk down to a small shrine located on therocky shores. A man in a turban is officiating as a priest as we gaze insidethe sanctum and look at our hazy reflection with the sea forming our backdrop.There is no deity or idol – just a mirror which reflects and represents thesoul or the Vishnu inside you. A small board in Tamil explains the philosophyabout worshipping your body as the temple, with your mind at peace and devotionand purity in your soul.  The beliefrests in equality; hence the turban says the man where every devotee is a king.Even Vivekananda he claims was influenced by it.  The underlying thought is that you keep yourmind and thoughts pure and worship the God or soul inside you. 

I later learn that the cult is referred toas Ayyavazhi founded by a revolutionary called Ayya Vaikundar , also believedby his followers as a reincarnation of Vishnu. However , speaking to Ahi Mohan,coordinator of the Nadar Family Welfare centre in Trivandrum, I learn that hewas  a 19^th century socialreformer , who was born in Kanyakumari district with a strong belief inequality of all people. He had built five main pathis, what we refer to astemples and the 200 year pathi at Chinna Muttom was called Muthapathi.  The followers believe that a dip in the seawill sanctify them.  

I stand and gaze at my hazy reflection inthe mirror for a long time and realize that my mind is blank, bathed by theocean and purged of all thoughts. Elsewhere in the haze of white foam and furyof the waves, I can see a distant form of Sri Charanya calling out my name,holding some wet sands in her hands. As she comes closer, we both laugh. In herhands are lumps of black and brownish soil in her hands and the colours seem tomerge with the blue of the ocean.