When Blind Men Discovered The Elephant

It’s been a while now, having gone through books, having visited temples, having done my own dig to find out everything I can possibly know about Lord Shiva and the mysterious being He is. And yet He defies me, every time when I wonder what really defines Shivahood. There are not too many takers for this faith, not after people start to find out that the rules of this game are way more difficult than they originally thought. 

Shiva is not a person, He is not a father of two kids parked in Kailasa, no I don’t believe He is all of that. Shiva is a state, a state that if we achieve, we become like Shiva Himself, we achieve Shivahood. And this state is not easy to become for it asks of us the unthinkable. Now am not talking about giving up Maya or related desires and asking for advaita or renunciation. No, not that directly but yes at some point of maturity we will come to that automatically. The unthinkable is something far more precious than all the material comforts and love we have around us. It’s a disease, a virus that once taken root is completely impossible to remove - its Bias that stems out of Perception. 

Why have we formed so many religious groups and why does each religious group believe they are superior to the other mortal without even getting a glimpse of the Lord - In any form! Isn’t this the outcome of a disease plaguing us right at the conscience? We are like a group of blind men touching the parts of an elephant and calling it different names, worse still we believe that the part we are familiar with is way better and superior to others with absolutely no clue of the fact that these parts actually lead up to a greater wholesome truth, the complete elephant. 

Few great souls walked this earth and they were blessed by the divine to have characteristics of the Lord or blessed with divine vision to actually see and witness the nature of the Supreme. And these few great souls shared their experiences with us and pushed off. Now we are left with a set of simply divine experiences, layered by a whole set of complex man made rules and put into a hard shell of perception that cannot be broken. How do we ever crack this nut? 

How do we differentiate between that which is an illusion and that which is super real? We need to break the shell of perception that covers our mind. But we seem to be aiding it, now isn’t that the sign of complete ignorance. Where is our beloved God and where are we, when we have this deep gorge of ignorance gaping at us in the middle? Will we ever make it to the other side? 

Look at what we have brought ourselves to, apparently we are the most evolved species on this planet. Yes, it’s true, all evolved species head towards their own disaster and we are surely sticking by that rule. We don’t need a catastrophes for this, we are the catastrophe. Our bias is the catastrophe. Look what we made of ourselves, we are ready to fight, ready to kill, and ready to wage war and ready to be groomed as terrorists to fight for a school of thought by folks who have barely set eyes on the supreme. Seriously, what are their credentials? 

Has anyone in recent times seen God, then how can anyone stake claim to a school of thought, mine included! Let’s do what the holy texts say, let’s do what the supreme wanted us to do, let just try to be good people. I speak for Shivahood because I know it best. Shivahood simply says, be fearless and surrender and the Lord will take care of everything else. Do you know how difficult that is, to be fearless and surrender? 

We need to first know that we are fearful and that perception is the problem. We then need to identify which perception is an illusion because all the thoughts we have in our head are perceptions! So we need to stop thinking too much and start contemplating. Contemplation is the art of killing perceptions and replacing it with truth. 

Here are some examples:
I am going to die one day- is a truth.
I am going to live a long life - clear perception and wishful thinking. 
I am going to become rich - perception
I am going to have a happy family - perception
My faith is the best - perception. 

But between now and death, I have some time so what do I do with myself. I can build more perceptions or I can stick with the truth and work to make that final experience better. Building perceptions is a castle in the air with people pampering our ego and our constant fight to get recognition from everyone. So somewhere in all this noise we forgot the elephant and we decided we are the greatest. And we have politics and diplomacy to tighten every nut and bolt to make that perception so totally real!! Remember when we die, which could be tomorrow, we are history. We are not even going to be remembered like that speck of dust you couldn’t remove. 

Lord Shiva dances in the cremation ground for a reason, he is the Lord of destruction for a reason. He walks with the supremely learned and the ghosts for a reason. He is a final truth for a reason. 

The reason quite simply is - He trains us and tests us for that final moment, that moment of death. To be fearless and to surrender, to give up this body with grace and not hold on to it. To let go and accept the final Truth and celebrate it rather that cry about it. To be free in the world of the unknown. Shivahood is that strength that guides us through.

Ma Kali - Consciousness of Time and Change

The sad story of Indian faith is largely influenced by the mimicing of the great acts of devotion by some superior soul mechanically and not emoting the same intensity of Bhakti that goes with the action. 

Many lambs, tender and young and scared, meet their peril at the foot of the Goddess at numerous shrines across Bengal and other states. It is the thoughtless murder of innocent animals that have nothing to do with the deep meaning of the embodiment of Kali Ma. Mythology says the Mother wants blood and in our world we know no better as to how to offer it. 

The Mother asks for our blood, now this doesn't mean we literally need to offer it. Ma Kali is an integral part of Brahma Vidya and she signifies the deep realization that life and death are just transition points. Her nature and terrific outlook defines the jolting presence of time, of change, and that to reincarnate into another form to progress in our spiritual journey, we need to discard this body. She brings the realization that death is nothing to be feared and that we as mortals need to get over that ignorance and realize the beauty of it. 

To attain higher spiritual realization we need to discard our fears. We need to get over our bias and perception. The shamshan ghat should look no different from a glamorous resort simply because it is so temporary. It doesn't take too long to convert a gorgeous resort into a burning ghat. Where is its permanence and why are we so enamoured by the apparent beauty of the location or why do we consider the cremation ground as forbidden land?

Ma Kali's presence is to teach us to get over our fear of death, not to drag an unwilling innocent lamb to its end. Now the fact that this is so not clear to anyone, uneducated or scholars alike, shows how ignorant we are capable of being. Are we waiting for someone to come and drag us to the book to learn it, or are we just happy living in some fool's paradise assuming we are doing a great job by cutting off the neck of an innocent lamb. 

Well if Bhakti would have it, its really not the lamb that would be out there. The true love for Ma Kali denotes that we want to get over the fear of death, we want to merge with her and that being a hanging skull on her garland is possibly a way of attaining salvation. Offering our own head to the goddess, is a greater and more daring offering to make, one out of love, one out of bhakti, one out of fearlessness. Now isnt that the true sign of getting over the fear of death by facing it head on? 

Unfortunately our outlook and our laws consider that suicide, but it just saddens me that killing a lesser being simply because its helpless is an act of spiritualism. How pathetic is it to draw a knife across a lambs neck when the texts actually describe the act of selflessness and high devotion to be the ultimate end of cutting off one's own neck. I am not propagating the act of cutting off one's own neck though historically that has really been the case and we have sculptural evidences all over the country to deliver that message.

Is it right or wrong, I dont know, but certainly killing an innocent lamb is not right. Ma Kali can be attained without killing, without the shedding of blood, Ramakrishna did it, Ramprasad Sen also did it. Why can't we take their examples and stop this slaughter, I mean somewhere we also need to do some thinking instead of just following the crowd. 

Kali is the significance of time and change and the reality of death marks that change. All we need to do is accept it and get over our fear of dying one day. I can't understand how it is related to killing a lamb in big numbers on a Saturday at the Ma Kali temple? The idea of Kali is spiritual and intellectual and is not related to the ghastly act of bloodshed. 

Buddha taught Ahimsa, so did Shankara. How can we see love when there is so much pain and horror in the eyes of the lamb? 

A Lost Heart in the Land of Ma Kali

A hollow emptiness descended on my mind and heart as I stared at the setting sun over the sacred Ganges in the holy land of Dakshineswar. Pigeons fluttered around the temple roof that was a sad but modern attempt on copying ancient Bengal temple architecture. I was a little more prepared this time not just to visit the Kali Ma shrine there and look at her up close but to also go around and see the Panchavati and if my luck would have it, the sacred tantrik sadhana spot. 

Great men have walked this earth, Ramakrishna and Ram Prasad to name a few and they all felt the growing presence of Ma Kali in the air. Yet, as I closed my eyes and breathed in the air under the Panchavati and filled my lungs as best as I could, I still felt nothing. No Ramakrishna, no Kali Ma, no Tara Ma, no body. The place, the spot, the Divinity and the air is all the same and yet I don't even get a glimpse of the Goddess, not a shread of it, what am I really missing?

My immediate answer was potentially Bhakti, an emotion or a logical reasoning that I feel, a sense of familiarity with the Goddess and a budding relationship which I have not yet taken for granted. But is it Bhakti that I lacked or is it tantrik sadhana that I severely lacked that didn't allow me even near her door. I dont think Sadhana would have solved my problem entirely, end of the day just mechanical ritual doesn't get us spiritual bliss though when it is coupled with Bhakti, one can feel the rising spiritual heat in the body. 

Their world and our world are so different and the only visible connect between the two worlds are the idols of the blue skinned Goddess that dot the Kolkata landscape in brick walls or tiled rooms, in bright electrically lit chambers or in the dark. Shivji and Ma, both live here as Shamshan Bhairava or Shamshan Kali but when I step into their world, I just step into a land with air and people lost in a peculiar belief but I want to feel a part of it, there hangs a deep feeling of hollow emptiness inside me that says, I just have to try a lot harder.

Frustration takes me to the doors of Kalighat, where the Mother rises violently in her spark of mad fury stepping over the pale body of Shivji, or at least I would like to believe that He is there under all those sarees that drape her. Bright orange hue lights up her forehead and her blood red ferocious eyes look up closely at me. Lets not mention the lousy priests or the noise or the sickeningly dirty floors, but here in all the bright light, soot covered silver parasols and candid groups of cockroaches that crawl over her hibiscous covered shouders, she lashes out with a bright orange dripping silver sickle, dancing in vigorous madness yet all frozen in stone, in time, in belief.

The fire burns on, the arti of the day culminates and I still stare blankly at her wondering, Mother, did I even try hard enough to connect with you? I can only stare, I can only wait and hope that Ma will reveal herself to me... some day... some time... some place. 

The Life of an Honest Priest

Twilight set in, leaving behind its orange residue across the horizon and the chirping was slowly fading away. The night sounds had started to take over the quiet landscape. The temple bell could be heard in the distance and the swirling waters tossed gently along the banks of the river.

He looked out of the window of his hut, it was almost dark. He walked across to the corner of his home and threw in a few things into his bag. Tossing a dark shawl over his shoulders he collected his Rudraksha beads and hung them around his neck. He quietly stepped out of his house and waving a sign of acknowledgement to the people around he walked down the street to the steps leading to the river. The ferry man was waiting, he was his only passenger to cut across the river to the other side that evening.

As darkness set in, he stared across the river. He could here the rumbling waters under the row as it tossed repeatedly into the waters. He watched the village lights light up like lamps in the darkness. He stared on to the other side. The cremation ground was active that night. There were two burning and the reflection of the pyres shimmered in the water. In the distance he could hear the temple bell echoing through the trees. As he neared the banks, he watched the wailing relatives as they bid goodbye to their departed beloved. He collected his things, and covering himself with his shawl, he got off the boat. He handed a few coins over to the ferry man and looking up at the flight of steps leading to the temple and started to walk.

He walked through the street leading up to the temple and bought a few hibiscus garlands along the way. Smearing red powder on his forehead he marched into the temple. People moved giving him way and stared long at him as he passed by. He almost owned the temple. He stepped into the sanctum and hung his bag behind the door. He slowly took off his shawl and kept it safely behind. And like lightning hits, from the silent world he had woken out of he took the arathi lamp and lit its wicks and like a man in trance he held up the flame to the Goddess and danced showing the light to her Divine presence, to her feet, to her sickle and to the corpse head hanging from her arm, he brought the light back close to her face, envisioning her waking up in those three red eyes that stared back at him.    

Sacred syllables awakening the divine Goddess Ma Kalika resonated through the walls. Showers of fresh hibiscus adorned her shoulders. Pure water flowed down her thick black hair and a fresh red saree draped her otherwise naked self. She glistened in the light as he moved with his music, the fire getting brighter with every swirl threw shadows on the wall almost making it appear like she came to life and danced with him. The air was tense, the singing got louder, the drums resounded, the temple bell rang furiously and he danced with her shadow and almost embraced her with love. With every lamp he picked, she came back from the shadowy darkness of the room to bless the folk with this divine spectacle of terrific love, divine dance in blissful intoxication. 

He laid down the last of the lamps, took in the warmth of the flame and turned to his audience showing them the light of divine love as he slowly walked out of the door. A couple of hours passed by and he has repeated his dance of love with the Goddess for the local folk to witness. It was the end of the evening, the crowd had trickled out of the temple and he silently bowed down to the Mother and whispered a few words in her ears. Then collecting his shawl and carefully taking his bag he closed the sanctum door leaving a single lamp lit in her chamber for the night.   

The streets had gone dark, the people had retired for the night as he walked down to the river. But as he neared the flight of steps he took a dramatic turn to the right instead of heading for the ferry. In the darkness among the trees he walked sure footed into the shadows and waited near the small temple watching the last of the pyres burn. The shamshan ghat was silent, except for the crackling flames that ate into the corpses that lay lifeless covered in flames. The relatives were gone, the aimless onlookers were gone, it was just him and his garden in the night. He walked up to the pyre that had died out, dusting the ashes and looked through the remains and picked up the popped skull. He walked down to the river and washed it clean and came back carefully taking it with him. He headed straight for the Ashwattha tree that stood behind a small temple. He lit a lamp at the temple and touched the feet of the mother and taking his skull in his hand he walked to the other side. 

He slowly unpacked his back, taking out a pouch of vermilion and some water, he made a paste and smeared it on the white head of the skull. He took out his lamp and wicks and lit a small light next to it. He undressed himself and folded his cloths to a side and clearing the ground, he sat in the middle and placed the decorated skull in front of him. Eyes closed he recited the sacred mula mantra to awaken the Goddess. He offered food and prayed to the Goddess. He closed his eyes and swung into japa, forgetting his world, forgetting his surroundings. The darkness came back to rule and in the silence, he slowly became conscious to the chill in the air, to the breeze in the leaves and as he went deeper into meditation he became aware of the power in the air, of the presence of the great Mother who had promised to visit him again. He spent the night in intoxicated dance, in intense sadhana as she visited him in his consciousness. Together they roamed the earth, in a different world, in a different realm locked in divine embrace. 

In the early hours of the morning, he woke out of his trance, bowed to the Mother and got up from his seat. He walked down his silent garden to the river and took his sacred dip. Turning to the temple, he walked up and opened the Sanctum doors. He bowed to the Mother and started his routine of worship for the day as people slowly trickled back into the temple. 

KAraikkAl AmmaiyAr - a woman among the 63 Nayanmars

Karaikkal Ammaiyar, 6th Century.

The highlight of Ammaiyar's story is that she asked Lord Shiva for a boon, one that would reduce her youth to a skeleton, demonic in appearance and would cease to be a distraction in her eternal devotion to the Lord.

The mysterious element in this Nayanmar's life is that her songs to the Lord are of a specific flavor, that brings alive an aspect of Shaivism fairly unknown in these times - the Aghori path of Shiva belief. As her story reveals, she was given 2 mangoes by her husband to keep safely so that he could have it during his meal. Reference has been made to a Shiva yogi who visited their house in his absence and she gives him one of the fruits with curd rice.

Drawing parallels, the Mangani Tirunal festival observed on Purnima in the month of Aani in Tamil Nadu, is a time when this incident is re-enacted and people are served mangoes and curd rice, the belief being that it was Shiva Bhikshatana who roamed around the world collecting alms and reached the door of KAraikkAl Ammaiyar. Shiva Bhikshatana's appearance can be paralleled with the aghori babas and naga baba's appearance where he is a naked mendicant, the difference being, he is also extremely sensuous and attractive.

Coming to some of the verses sung by KAraikkAl AmmaiyAr, her descriptions of Shiva Bhikshatana or Shiva Rudra residing in the cremation ground, render a stomach churning experience should one try to visualize this form!

Quoted from the " thiruviraTTai maNimAlai"

His matted hair of ruddy gold is adorned
With Konrai flowers which are buzzed and kindled
By chafers; there the serpent of venomous sacs stands hissing:
Such is He, the long-haired Brahmin.
He is indeed the Lord who will not passively witness
The misery of worshippers who hail Him

*Konrai: Cassia ; Indian Laburnum
*chafers: a type of beetle

O heart, for ever hail Him who is Sankara, the One
Of matted hair that dangles low, the righteous One who
On that matted hair sports a soaring serpent and the One
Who on that day saves you from the onslaught of misery.

* that day is the day of one’s death

Other forms of Shiva that are made references to:

Tripurantaka Shiva;
In the world of eternal bliss, do what I bid you.
He, the Hero annihilated the triple citadels of His-foes;
He is eight shouldered, Bow, with delay none, at His feet
Which are like pure and fresh gold; be poised
In His worship for days without end.

Neelakantha Shiva:
He is the Lord of the supernal world; His asterism is betelgeuse;
His throat is dark with the aalaalam that He ate; they that chant
His mystic pentad—the chief of mantras--, adore Him and come by
The true import, can (alone) behold His feet of ruddy gold.

aalaalam: Halaahalaa poison that oozed out during the churning of the ocean.

O Righteous Lord that wears the heroic anklet!
The dry and strong-mouthed ghouls standing sing Your praise;
Bhootas stand and adore You; the great crematory is
Your theatre where You dance and dance. How is it
That You sped an arrow from Your bow and caused
The triple citadels of the Asuras to get gutted with fire?

How are we to attain Him in love?
The snake that dances on His person
Will suffer none to come near it;
Moreover, all that we behold before us
Are only a row of skulls and white bones.
Besides He but rides, in delight, a bull.

The description of the cremation ground, the theater where he performs has been vividly described in the another song of KArraikAl AmmaiyAr. Such a description brings alive the other side of the cremation ground, one that we humans do not get to witness, one that KArraikAl AmmaiyAr is a part of, in possible disbelief to the mortal world as she narrates what she sees.

Excerpts from the thiruvAlangATTu mUththa thiruppadhikam:

Fat melts and wets the ground, and the long toothed and sunken eyed ghouls observe this and enact the dance of tunangkai. They look around and put out the fire of the pyres eating the corpses to their hearts content and feel delighted, it is in such a fitting crematory, holding fire in his hand that the handsome Lord dances.

Jackals tug and draw away the stinking white heads punctured by birds, owls raise a hue and cry, owlets wave their wings, barn owls stare down and frighten those who look at them, and foxes howl around in great urgency. Such is this great charnel house, and it is here that the great Lord desires to perform his dance.

It was a corpse that a ghoul was not sure of as it advanced and pointed a finger at it screaching aloud. The ghoul roared and threw a fire at it yet not being sure of what it was. Frightened by the corpse, the ghoul ran far and beats its own stomach in bewilderment, observed by many other ghouls who took to their feet in sheer fear. It is in such a crematory that the Lord in the guise of a mad man dances.

Scorched by the rising flames, charred is the firewood, brains seep out of broken crania, cacti wilt in the heat, such is the fierce crematory where the wood apple trees abound, it is indeed his place of rest. It is in this wilderness that the Lord dances, with tiger skin as his girt and a spotted antelope dangling off his shoulder, he lights up this stage with his dance of destruction.

He sports the crescent moon on his matted hair, he forever dances his twirling dance, his waist is girdled with a serpent. Who ever by His grace is able to sing and dance out the poetry of KAraikkAl Pey(ghost), one with a fiery mouth and sharp teeth, who abides in the crematory will be freed of all sins.

This is the reality of the cremation ground, a description so vivid of activities when humans leave the bodies of the dead to burn by night. As jackals depict Shakti in the form of Kali Nayan Tara, and Lord Shiva dances among ghouls who feast on corpses as they witness his fiery movements, this world beyond death is a narrative that we capture in bhakti of a very different kind.

The life and immortal presence of this Nayanar, reveals that bhakti knows no bias, that love and music for the Lord can be found even in the wierdest of places where fear reigns supreme. Her narrative reveals a world beyond us, where the nature of ghosts includes that of feeling fear and joy, where their meal is absorbing the nurishment of burning corpses, where their company is that in the presence of foxes, jackals and owls in an ambience of the night as the crackling fire eats into wood and human remains perishing in the flames bringing alive the terrific world of Aghora.

Read her complete story.

Related topics:
Shamshan Tara, a form of Kali
Kalighat - Where death meets you face to face
Kalika Mata at Kalighat, a sacred Shakti Peetha
Taraka Mantra - Passage to heaven
Manikarnika Ghat: Where life meets the world beyond

Content courtesy: shaivam.org
Picture courtesy: Metropolitan museum of Art, natarajar.blogspot.com