Madurai

The myTh and magic ThaT is

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One marvels at the living heritage which celebrates the marriage of Lord Sundareshwar and Princess Meenakshi at the Meenakshi Temple year after year, says Rubina P. Banerjee

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adurai, the name inspires a thousand memories memories that date as far back as the 3rd century BC when it was called Thirualavai,and nds mention in the Indica by Megasthenes, Alexander s ambassador to India, as well as in the works of the witty Kautilya, Chandragupta Mauryas able advisor.

This city on the serene banks of the Vaigai River has been an intrinsic part of Indian history and in the millennia of its existence has been ruled by the early Pandyas, Medieval Cholas, later Cholas, later Pandyas, the Malabar Sultanate, the Vijayanagar Empire, Madurai Nayaks, Chanda Sahib and the British. Madurai is thus one of the oldest cities with a recorded

history of over 2 millennia. Despite the innumerable changes that the city has seen, there is one constant that is as immutable as Madurai itself, the Meenakshi Amman Temple. In fact, the name Madurai is derived from Madhura or nectar. The city of Madurai was awash with the nectar of Lord Shiva as he married its Queen, Meenakshi. This enticing mix of history and

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the living heritage of the myths of Shiva and Meenakshi draw me to Madurai time and time again. I cannot but marvel at a living culture which still celebrates the marriage of Lord Sundareshwar and Princess Meenakshi year after year, when other ancient civilizations can only boast of a few hoary relics as proof of their glorious past.

The marriage of Meenakshi to Lord Shiva is a tale from mythology that I listened to wide-eyed as a child on the lap of my grandmother. Out of the ames of a Yagna emerged Meenakshi, in the form of a threeyear-old girl, and sat on the lap of Queen Kanchanmala. The King Malaydhwajan, unaware that the little Meenakshi was Parvathy incarnate, was disappointed.

Through the clamour of the Yagna, however, he heard a divine voice that asked him to name the child Thadadhagaiand train her in the martial arts like a son. It was also divined that the third breast of Meenakshi would fall off when she saw her consort. The King followed the divine commandments and trained his daughter to be his successor. After her coronation,

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Queen Meenakshi embarked on a volley of conquests, and having conquered earth, attacked Kailash, the abode of Shiva. When Shiva came to ght the Queen, Thadahagai surrendered her weapons and her third breast vanished, as she stood abashed in front of her Lord. The marriage of the divine couple was held in Madurai on the 8th day after the encounter, with great fanfare, and a sculpture depicts it in picturesque detail at the entrance to the Amman Sannathi in the Temple. The myth and magic of Madurai oated before my sleepy eyes as I boarded the ight to Madurai. Three hours later, when I alighted in Madurai, I could see the tall gopurams of the temple, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The trip to the hotel through the bustling streets of Madurai seemed very familiar and welcoming. A myriad small temples with their multitudes of stucco statues yielded to smaller lanes and shops selling everything from incense to ornaments, and nally, the car suddenly turned off the main road into a leafy lane and the gates of Heritage Madurai resort. Lush greenery lay spread out like a canopy, a true treat for urban eyes like mine which savoured the lines of trees, the rich carpet of grass with its motif of light and shadowI could so lose myself here I thought, as the car drew up to the reception .

The formalities of identication and check-in passed unregistered as I could only marvel at this unique reception. A 17th-century door beckoned with its wealth of carved detail behind which was the swimming pool, alongside a replica of the tank in the Meenakshi Temple. It was framed by a row of tiled rooms. Looking out beyond the reception was the lounge, charming and earthy with planters teak and cane chairs and huge old brass fans that wafted the sultry air with their palm leaf blades. I wanted to sit there for a while but hunger pangs drew me to the restaurant, the Banyan Tree. Sambar rice, chicken 65 and a Chettinad Crab curry, and I fell upon the meal like a famished mendicant. Even though this is a temple town, restaurants outside the temple area serve all manner of delicious food for carnivores like me. Sipping on my buttermilk, I glanced at the lawn. A huge banyan tree, its peripheral roots creating a veritable monument that climbed towards the sky, stood a silent testimonial to Madurais ancient religious traditions. Its capacious girth seemed to encompass years, and in the tangled roots hid a million tales of a time long past. There was such a peace about the place I could have sat there dreaming endlessly. Steaming sambar broke my reverie but I promised myself that Id come back to this banyan tree and

do my yoga asanas to compensate for my indulgence. Hunger quickly dispensed with lunch, and a buggy drove me to my room. A tiled verandah with planters recliners welcomed me to room 2402. The door swung open to a huge sitting area, wooden oors and comfortable teak furniture that reassured me about being human. Mumbai, with its space rationing, often makes me feel like a doll in a dolls house and one longs for arm space, high ceilings et al. The bedroom was the best part, with a beautiful view of the plunge pool, framed by the leaves of a champa tree. And the plunge pool mirroring the cotton clouds in the blue sky was a sight for sore eyes. Dumping my luggage, I rushed to the pool and sat in the sunshine with my toes dipping into the cool. This was bliss, the sky, the cool waters, the peace that only green can bring and a prayer in my heart. Madurai was all that and more. The resort really celebrates that spirit of Madurai. Once within its high gates, the city recedes in the splendour of green, harking back to those times when lush greenery was neither such a luxury nor so rare. The hotel has a lineage too, as the property was originally the Madura Coats Club, used as an exclusive residence for expat ofcers. The clubhouse where the ofcers met every evening to dine, dance and socialize was re-designed in 1970 by Geoffrey Bawa and is the Reception. Bawa, the world famous Sri Lankan Architect, re-designed the resort in his signature style of tropical modernism. A good lunch, a plunge into the depths of my own pool and I slept peacefully. The evening saw me making my way to the temple. The sheer magnitude of the temple never fails to amaze me and makes me acutely aware of how miniscule I truly am. Walking in through the entrance on the eastern side of the temple which towers 25 feet high, one is humbled! The shrines of the Lord Kartikeya or Murugan and Lord Ganesh welcome you as you enter a huge doorway. A few steps later, to your right stretches the beautiful Lotus Temple Tank with a looming gopuram rising above it majestically. A thousand gods and goddesses adorn the gopuram and it is as massive as it is

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Heritage Madurai resort and (below): Meditating under an ancient banyan tree

detailed. Southern temples entice me with their cuddapah oors, the smell of mogra and the colours of kumkum and make me shed my civilized baggage at the door and return to my basic essence! Making my way to the sanctum sanctorum of Goddess Meenakshi, I suddenly realize that this is perhaps the only temple where one has to visit the Goddess before the Lord. Meenakshi stands testimony to the power of women! Her elegant form is that of a dancer, her wide sh shaped eyes give her her name, and the wise parrot is her companion. She is the true strength of Lord Sundareshwar! In the gleaming light of a thousand ghee lamps, her face shines on me and lls me with the pride of being a woman! The Abhisekham of Lord Sundareshwar was about to happen and buying a ticket I became a part of that magical ceremony. The stone pillars guard the lingam jealously, which, it is claimed, was created spontaneously and is even older than the temple itself. Craning my head over the brass poles which lead up to the sanctorum, I watched in awe as the lord is bathed in panchamrit, milk, sandalwood paste and water. The abhisekham seemed to truly cleanse my soul! Once the ablutions were over, he was anointed with sandalwood and then draped in crisp white and gold cloth and nally the diamond studded crown of Nags or snakes which are his companions, adorned him. Dazzled as I was by his breathtaking

beauty, it took me a while to nd my way out of the shrine. There in the central courtyard, gigantic statues of Veerabhadra, Bhadrakali, Dakshinamoorthy (superbeings created by Shiva), towered over me and redoubled my wonder. I sat on the stone oor and stared at them in awe, my gaze alighting on the famous sculpture of Lord Vishnu giving the hand of Meenakshi to Lord Sundareshwar, a beatic smile played on all three faces, and I was lost in their ethereal beauty! A sudden clap of thunder brought me back to reality. Lightning streaked across the temple pillars and torrential rain descended.I remembered my rst visit to the temple when a beautiful danseuse offered her devotion in dance to Lord

Nataraja, her nritya reverberating in the temple while it rained in rhythm with the drums and her ghungroos. It was an exquisite experience! The rain had reined me indoors and I wandered through the many corridors of the temple. At the end of one stood an elephant with his mahout. Gentle eyes and a gentler benediction of the trunk of the elephant Gajendra warmed my heart. Passing on to the outer precincts of the temple I bought some Prasad and ate it sitting on the steps of the tank. A clutch of colourful shops beckoned beyond. Maroon Kumkum, bangles, statues, toys and those huge garlands soon I was lost in the waresMeanwhile the rain had spent itself and the temple lay awash with the mingling perfume of mogras and the rain. The last ceremony of the day, the Pallyarai Pooja, was about to begin. This is when the Lord comes to the bedroom of Meenakshi, (the Swamy Sannathi) at night. A beautiful silver door which stands locked during the day as if in breathless anticipation, is opened for that moment when Lord Sundareshwar and Devi Meenakshi come together! Having bid them goodnight, I walked out of the temple. Retrieving my slippers I stopped at Manorama for a quick masala dosa and lter coffee before making my way to the hotel. The room welcomed me with its warm wooden oors and its soft soothing bed. As I lay listening to the soft raindrops on the pool, I felt calm. Madurai, Meenakshi and me were inextricably bound in the mesmeric magic of myth and reality.

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