The Harmless Fool: Meenakshi Temple

The temple of the Beautiful Fish-eyed Goddess Meenakshi, wife of Shiva, rises above anything else in the Madurai skyline, at least from the roof top of our hotel. It’s an impressive sight from there, but far more imposing as you press into the crowd at the east gate, pushing for an opportunity to step through the metal detector and stand for a quick frisking before passing into the temple precinct. I was trying to be courteous and getting nowhere until one of our hosts from Lady Doak College here in Madurai tapped me on the shoulder and said, “You have to push in.” Nobody in the crowd was giving any quarter. Old men and women shoved past me and then I got my shoulder into the stream of worshippers and held my ground. It felt strange to be so aggressive going into a temple, but no one seemed to take it personally, and soon I was through and taking in the extraordinary carvings and paintings. The temple was such an electric collage of sound, color, texture, and smells that I could barely take it all in myself, let alone decide what to photograph. (The latter was only a problem for a short while, and then my camera batteries died again.) The carvings on the steep prismatic towers of the temple (five in all) were crowded and exotic and brightly painted. Inside, stone pillars were carved into gods and beasts. Some figures had powdered turmeric adorning them, and worshippers would reach out to touch the icons, getting a bit of the color on their fingertip and transferring it to their foreheads. A tilak, or mark, in the center of the forehead representing the third eye. The ceilings were painted in scenes and images, and our bare feet trod on mandalas painted on the ground. A figure of Meenakshi, pregnant and ready to give birth, was covered with a saffron-colored silk veil and anointed with ghee (clarified butter) that ran down the column and onto the floor. In the museum—a section of the temple where the thousand columns had been enclosed and a polished granite floor added, along with glass cases containing other statues and artifacts—our guide demonstrated singing statues. I put my ear against the arm of a figure and he tapped the other arm—the sound was surprisingly bright and clear. Another corner of the museum held musical columns. Several narrow stone columns sounded in different pitches when tapped with a wood block. It sounded a bit like a xylophone. Most exciting was the elephant. I didn’t get his name, but he is eighteen years old—relatively young, I think, for an elephant. When you gave his handler ten rupees, he would lay his trunk on you in blessing. When my turn came, I felt the weight of his trunk come down on my head and it was a substantial presence, but gentle. I reached up and patted the trunk—warm, coarse-haired, and dry. Just having seen an elephant so close, I was satisfied, but we followed him and his handlers into another hall, with a carved teak ceiling, away from the crowds. There, for 100 rupees (about two dollars and fifty cents), the elephant knelt down and two of us at a time were allowed to climb onto his back. I used his knee as a step and still had to struggle and scramble my way up. Artist rode behind me, each of us clinging to the enormous mammal’s rope harness, and the elephant stood up. I hadn’t realized from the ground how high it felt to be on an elephant’s back. His neck sloped forward and I felt a little like I might pitch over the top of his head if I didn’t lean back and place one palm on his skull. He backed up a few feet and then walked forward again, and the ride was over. When we climbed down I leaned into his side and caressed him. Wow. Just wow. I hope somebody got some good pictures.