Footloose at the Meenakshi temple to record the city's pulse at daybreak.
As we turned into Elukadal Street on this cold and quiet Margazhi morning, the shrill cry of “chai, chai” broke the sepulchre-like silence. “Temple gopuram or a railway platform?” our minds wondered when Sikandar emerged from the darkness, his silhouette on a bicycle faintly visible. He apparently arrived three hours before we did for his usual rounds to sell 100-odd cups of tea. For decades, Sikandar has been among those nocturnal citizens who make Madurai the much celebrated Thoonganagaram.
Holding cups of steaming tea at 4 a.m. and staring at the empty dark street, we smugly thought we are the first ones to arrive. But when we reached Amman Sannathi, we were surprised to find a group of Ayyappa devotees in saffron dhotis queued outside the East gate. Stray dogs dug into the previous day's garbage. An elderly man walked briskly towards us and disappeared into darkness. It was a different feeling to see the pride of Madurai in the early hours, serene and silent.
Suddenly, our ears pierced with the loud beating of the nagada and cymbal. We looked at the watch: 4.30 a.m. A faint light glowed in the mandapam opposite the Amman Sannathi. Head constable Selvamohan quenched our curiosity. “It is the old man you just saw. Climb atop the Mandapam, you will find him there.”
But nowhere could we find a way to climb. The cop pointed to a wooden door of one of the shops tucked by the roadside. It was left ajar and we peeped in to find a stone staircase wide enough to place one foot! We pulled in our stomachs and squeezed ourselves up to the Nagada Mandapam.
The tiny cabin atop the mandapam was a revelation of sorts. We found the elderly man there. He flashed a toothless smile as he played the cymbals. His companion Selvaraj sat on a raised platform beating the nagada. Exactly after 30 minutes, silence fell again. Selvaraj emerged from the cabin sweating profusely. “It is a way of announcing to the city that the temple has been opened. Our family has been doing this since the time of Rani Mangammal. But with concrete buildings around, the sound of the nagada gets drowned so we are forced to use the mike. We will be back at 4.30 p.m.”
The first ray of the sun now kissed the gopuram. It instantly illuminated the faces of the yazhis and yakshis on the nine-tier gopuram. The temple gongs rented the air as did the chanting of ‘Om'. Fresh jasmine and roses in cane baskets came up on the platforms, shop shutters went up and a mix of walkers and devotees entered the Chithrai streets. All of sudden, there was a flurry of activity. Men in sport shoes and T-shirts, their lungis folded at the knee and foreheads smeared with vibhuti and kumkum, walked briskly around the temple. Some of them had earphones while the others walked to the Gayatri Mantra and Suprabhatam blaring from the loudspeakers.
It was time for the lights to be switched off as the sky turned from black to blue. More walkers poured in and the streets were no longer empty. Now we saw men in T-shirts and shorts. The women were out too, in sarees and sport shoes, filling their lungs with fresh air. We also spotted few foreigners swigging coke bottles for their morning stroll.
Bhakti and fitness now walked hand in hand in the abode of Goddess Meenakshi. ‘Tiffin ready' boards came up on pavements outside the restaurants and the city's heart started throbbing with life.
There were no prospective buyers in sight, yet Muthupandi and Nagamma were up and about for business. Muthupandi tried his best to sell us gaudy necklaces and bangles he makes from old brass coins. Our hearts, however, melted seeing a smiling Nagamma, full of hope for the day ahead. At 80-plus, abandoned by her sons, she makes a living by selling hair bands. At ten rupees a packet, each containing 15 colourful bands, even if she finds 10 customers in a day, she is grateful to God. We bought her tea and snacks and returned with her unforgettable expression of gratitude.
With the sun now shining in full glory and the gopuram resplendent in its light, we looked up for one final glance at the temple and walked back. Back in the hustle bustle, what lingered on in the mind was the chant of ‘Om' at dawn, the nagada beats piercing the silence and the smiles of Nagamma and Sikandar.
Source - The Hindu Metroplus
No comments:
Post a Comment