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March 25, 2017December 1, 2020

Goa

I was only in Goa for two nights before moving on to Hampi, and so not wanting to venture too far from the airport and train station which were both in Vasco de Gama, I decided to stay here. The city was named after the Portuguese explorer who in 1498 reached India by sea, the first European to do so. The range of catholic churches in the area bear witness to the Portuguese influence in the area.

My accommodation was only a 10 minute drive from the airport, and a 10 minute walk from the closest beach, Bogmalo. Walking onto the beach for the first time I could not help but smile. It was lined with restaurants serving delicious food, and sitting down to eat I was able to watch the sun set over the ocean, which really was a beautiful sight. I spent my few days here simply relaxing, and aside from being chased by wild dogs on my way out of Goa, I really did enjoy myself.

However, sitting on the beach, even though I had everything I thought I could need in the moment, I felt as though I was missing something. I realised that whilst travelling alone is rewarding in many ways, there are some moments that you only want to share with those closest to you. I realised that while I was not really missing home, I was missing those closest to me and all I wanted to do was to share these wonderful moments I was having with them.

Even Rama in his exile had Sita and Lakshmana with him, and it reminded me how important those closest to you are.

Grateful to have had this insight, I brushed away the sand from between my toes, knowing full well that I would be finding clumps of it in my bag for the next few weeks, and boarded my train to Hampi.

March 27, 2017December 1, 2020

Rāma in Kishkinda

Rāma was so full of sorrow and so full of anger when he realised Sita had been taken. He told Lakshmana that with his anger he would destroy all that existed in the universe, as if he were himself the God of death. Rāma lamented that he had lived his life according to the dictates of dharma, and that he had been only noble. Yet he had lost his Kingdom, his family, his father, and now his Sita. He told Lakshmana that his gentleness had been mistaken for weakness, and that this had brought him only pain. Rāma without Sita, with all of his anger was ready to destroy the universe itself.

Lakshmana spoke gently to Rāma,

‘You should not abandon your nature, now that you have fallen prey to anger’. He said.

‘As loveliness dwells in the moon, brilliance in the sun, movement in the wind and forbearance in the earth, all these ever invariably dwell in you.’

He then sat beside his older brother and lovingly pressed his feet.

‘If you are not able to endure this suffering, what other man can bear it?’

‘What living beings do calamities not visit?

Reminding him that fate cannot be overcome, and that if anyone could bear these hardships it was Rāma. He calmed his brother, telling him that even the Gods go through pain and loss, and if they cannot avoid fate, then how can we as humans hope to.

Rāma, consoled by Lakshmana, regained his composure,

‘What shall we do, O Lakshmana?’

Overcoming his dejection, Rāma with his loving brother Lakshmana began their search for Sita. They found the dying Jatāyu, and Rāma filled with grief at the sight of his fallen friend ‘sank down on the earth’. In his last moments Jatāyu told them what had happened, and so Rāma and Lakshmana began marching south, to find Ravana and Sita.

On their way they encountered the demon Kabandha who wondered the forest. Killing him, and thus freeing him from his curse, he was able to regain his old form. He told Rāma and Lakshmana that to succeed in their task they would need an ally. If they headed towards the Kingdom of Kishkinda, they would find a monkey by the name of Sugriva, and he would help them to find Sita.

Kishkinda is thought to be modern day Hampi, and was my next destination.

March 30, 2017December 1, 2020

Hampi

I had been looking forward to Hampi from the very start of my trip, despite knowing very little about it. However, the fact that it marked the location where Rama met Hanuman meant I knew it was going to be a wonderful experience, and I was not in any way disappointed.

The first thing that struck me as I leaned out of the train door approaching the station at Hampi was the fierce heat. Looking out, I observed all around me. The immense greenery of the fields, was matched only by the orange glow of the air, so bright was the sun.

It was probably the first time I felt as though I was now really in South India. Hindi was no longer spoken, and the signs were no longer in Hindi, so the little I had learned along the way was now useless. Having to rely on only my English, I left the train and made my way towards Hampi. I had arrived in the late afternoon, and with sunset not far away, I decided to spend my first day there just wondering around Hampi. I was immediately struck by its immense beauty. Mountains and boulders pervaded the landscape. The story goes that the Vanara Army, or the monkey army of Kishkinda, would throw these incredible rocks from the tops of the mountains to show off their strength.

Watching the sunset over the dried up river, and behind the mountains, I could not help but look forward to my days ahead.

March 30, 2017December 1, 2020

A bicycle ride along the Trail of Rama Part I

My first morning in Hampi was probably my favourite to date. When deciding how to get around, the owner of the guest house where I was staying recommended that I hire a bicycle for the day, and at 100 rupees, I could not argue with it.

After crossing up the dried up river with my bike, scrambling across the rocks, which was not as easy as I would have liked, my first stop was Lake Pampa.

It was at this lake whose ‘soul enchanting excellences are famed throughout the world’, that Rāma and Lakshmana found the ashram of Shabari, another who refused her place in heaven, so she could meet Rama.

However, it was about 4 km from where I was staying, and I knew there was no way I would have enjoyed the day as much as I did if it were not for my bike. It removed my dependence on annoying rickshaw drivers, and enabled me to actually cover a reasonable distance. It had been years since I had ridden a bike, and the freedom it gave me was wonderful.

I met a Sadhu at the body of water marking Lake Pampa, and asked him where I should visit. He told me that there was a Durga Mandir I could see, briefly mentioning something about Vali, the language barrier again proving a problem. He told me I could visit Anjanaya Hill and Rishyamookh hill which were all on this side of the river. Again, appreciating that sometimes I did not need to make a plan before doing something, as things often turned out okay, I set off to see the other sites.

I went off in search of the Durga Mandir. I cycled, and cycled, and cycled without managing to find it, even though it was only meant to be 2km away. Not realising how far I had travelled, I stumbled across a small village and just enjoying the bike ride, I thought I would go and investigate, before turning around and heading back.

Everywhere I went I found traces of the Ramayana. Whether it was statues and temples, or simply Rama’s name written across the rocks of Hampi.

Cycling through I reached the end of the path that existed, and found myself at what seemed like an abandoned temple. It was beautiful and on the banks of the river, with a small photo of Hanuman placed at the entrance. Intrigued I went in, had a wonder around the stone structure and left. I made a note of the name, just in case it came up anywhere and started cycling back. It was called Anegundi.

Cycling back I soon found the Durga Mandir. Realising I had not been able to see it before as it was hiding on the other side of a hill, I began my ascent. Funnily enough, I met the same Sadhu there as I had at Lake Pampa and after a brief conversation, I went to the Durga mandir.

I pushed my bike up the unrelenting hill, its one gear and my lack of stamina proving to make cycling up it out of the question, and visited the temple. I then asked about Vāli. No words were given in reply, and I was simply pointed in a direction. Intrigued, I followed and continued walking.

I walked and walked, and finally found arrows painted on the surrounding rocks, which guided me to where I was going. I climbed boulders and squeezed my way through caves until I reached what I thought was my destination.

I had without knowing, made it to the top of the hill, and I was able to see Hampi in all its glory before my eyes. Monkeys kept me company as I was blown away by all before me.

However, I soon realised that the arrows had not stopped. I was at this point becoming nervous. I had walked a long way, across a number of obstacles that were not easy to cross. Spurred on, however, by the feeling that I was close, I descended a few ladders that were merged into the rocks.

What I found was mesmerising…

April 2, 2017December 1, 2020

Rama and Vali

The mighty Sugrīva was living on Rishyamukh Hill, banished from the Kingdom of Kishkinda by his older brother, the King Vali, who had threatened Sugriva with death if he ever returned.

Upon seeing Rāma and Lakshmana, Sugrīva was worried that they had been sent by Vali to kill him. He decided to send the ever faithful Hanumān, to ascertain the intention of those two brothers that had come to Kishkinda.

Hanumān, disguising himself as a mendicant approached Rāma and Lakshmana, asking what had brought them too Kishkinda. Lakshmana relayed their story, telling Hanumān how they were told to find Sugrīva who could help them in their quest to find Sita.

Delighted to hear that they came as friends, and knowing that these two brothers could help Sugrīva too, Hanumān, ‘the noble minded son of the wind god’, was overjoyed. He took Rāma and Lakshmana on his shoulders, and departed for Rishyamukh hill.

Upon meeting Rāma and Lakshmana and becoming friends, Sugrīva told the two brothers of his woe brought to him at the hands of his brother Vāli, how he had taken his wife and banished him from his kingdom. Rāma reassured Sugrīva that he would defeat Vāli, giving him back his kingdom. Sugrīva in turn told Rāma that once he had his kingdom, he would ensure Sita was found.

These two whose joys and woes were so similar had found a new friendship and hope in each other.

Rāma asked his newly found friend to tell him the story of why Vāli had banished him, and Sugrīva obliged.

A long time before, Vāli was fighting with a demon in a cave. Vāli told his younger brother to wait outside. Many months passed and still Vāli had not emerged. A year after entering, Sugrīva saw blood emerge from the mouth of cave, accompanied by the roar of the demon, with no sound of his brother. Fearing his brother dead, Sugrīva closed off the cave and headed back to Kishkinda. In the absence of his brother, the despondent Sugrīva was crowned king.

Vāli, however, had in fact killed the demon, and when he freed himself from the cave, he returned horrified at the actions of his brother. He banished Sugrīva, who had thought he had done what was right, and having taken Sugrīva’s wife for himself, told his younger brother never to return.

Sugrīva still filled with love for his brother, knew he would receive only anger in return. Sugrīva resolved that the only way he could solve his problem was to kill Vāli.

However, Vāli was powerful. He had performed intense tapas to Shiva, giving him strength greater than most could fathom. Killing him would therefore be no easy task. Rāma and Sugrīva devised a plan. Sugrīva would go to fight Vāli, and Rāma hiding in the trees, would release an arrow to kill him.

The fight ensues and Sugrīva and Vāli resembled ‘the moon and the sun in the sky’. Rāma, seizing his moment and released his arrow ‘as the god of death would lift his weapon for the destruction of the world’. Vāli, with tears rolling down his cheeks, struck by the arrow of Rāma, fell to the ground.

The dying Vāli saw Rāma emerge from the trees, and asked the noble prince why he acted so unjustly. How could one so well versed in knowing and doing what is right, commit such an act.

“You are cruel,’ Vāli wails, ‘resembling the sun, shorn of its brilliance’.

Rāma, listening to the words of Vāli, replied in turn. He reminded Vāli how he had strayed from the path of virtue in the treatment of his younger brother. His duty was to look after Sugrīva, and instead he banished him from his kingdom, and took his wife too.

Vāli, in his last moments thinking only of his son Angada, understood the words spoken by Rāma. He looked to his brother Sugrīva.

‘O dear brother, happiness was not ordained for us at one and the same time,’ spoke Vāli.

Asking for his brother’s forgiveness, Vāli also asked Sugrīva to look after his son Angada, as if he were his own. Finally saying goodbye to his son, Vāli died.

Tāra his wife, looked to her husband, fallen on the ground.

‘Surely O lord, the earth is dearer to you in comparison with me as you lie embracing her, without responding to me.’ she cried.

Sugrīva too, was overwhelmed with grief. Seeing what he had done, and the pain he had caused to Vāli’s wife and son, Sugrīva knew he would regret his actions as long as his life would last. Unable to bear this burden, Sugrīva said he would take his own life.

Rāma, sadenned at the grief of his friend, told him that it was now his duty to look after the kingdom, and to watch over Vāli’s son. We cannot ignore our duties on this earth, he reminded Sugrīva.

And so it was, that with Vāli’s death, Sugrīva assumed the throne of Kishkinda, and pledged to help Srī Rāma find his Sita.

The Rāmāyana is amongst other things, a tale of what it means to perform our duty. In this light, I have never fully understood the story of Rāma and Vāli. I couldn’t understand why Rāma could deceive and kill Vāli who was in many ways a king and a ruler of virtue, as he did. When Sugrīva came to fight Vāli, Vāli exclaimed that it was not his desire to kill his younger brother, yet Rāma and Sugrīva transpired to kill Vali all the same.

It made me question ideas of duty and righteousness that the Rāmayana, and Rāma himself espouses, and I am still left wondering why this part of the story transpired as it did.

Nevertheless, with Sugrīva on the throne, the Vanara Army is assembled, and the search begins for Sita. Monkeys and bears are sent to the four corners of the earth to find the wife of Rāma. Sugrīva willed by fate, decided to send his most trusted friends to the south. He sent Angada, endowed with speed and prowess. He sent Nīla, the son of the god of fire and he sent Jāmbavān the son of Brahma. He also sent of course his most faithful friend, Hanuman. And so these monkey’s along with their army’s were sent to find Sitā, the heart of Rāma.

April 2, 2017December 1, 2020

A bicycle ride along the Trail of Rama part II

I had descended the final part of the cave and found myself in Vāli Gopha. I looked up, realising that from every direction, I was enclosed by rock. In the middle of the small space, however, lay one piece of stone a few feet high. It was painted orange, and had on it a picture of Shiva. A trident stood next to the rock. I was amazed that such a place existed, in the heart of this mountain.

The cave seemed so detached from its surroundings, that it seemed to be in a world of its own. Reflecting, I could think of only two words to describe it, Shakti and Shaant, Strength and calm.

The sun pierced the rocks, breaking through the few spaces between them, accompanied only by the gentle touch of the wind.

I had assumed it was the place where Vali was trapped, and I started my adventure back out of the cave to my bike, retracing the arrows but following them in the opposite direction. It was only around 10am by this point but it was already touching 30 degrees. I felt like it was time to get a drink, and so picking up my bike, I found a small stall just outside the mandir.

I asked for a cold drink, and the owner, an older man with a modest smile, knowing I was not a local, replied in almost faultless English. I was surprised and we started talking. He told me that he was a retired engineer who chose to spend his days here working behind the stall, because it brought him a peace that he been unable to find elsewhere.

I asked him about the place I had just visited and he told me that it was not where Vali was trapped, but where he did his penance to Shiva, giving him his incredible power. It was this penance, he told me, that meant Vali could only be killed through a trick rather than in a fight. The feelings that came to me in the cave suddenly started to make sense. Shakti and Shaant.

Furthermore, he asked me if I had been to Anegundi. Remembering the name rang a bell I recalled that it was the temple I had found earlier. Intrigued, he told me that it was believed to be the place where Rama killed Vali. It turned out that I had stumbled upon the location of a main chapter of the Ramayana, by accident.

Enjoying how my day was unfolding, I thanked the owner Sirnath, and continued my journey. I rode my bike down the winding paths of the hills, feeling as free as I ever had.

I now went in search of Anjanaya Hill. A temple 600 steps up a hill, that was said to mark the birthplace of Hanuman.

April 3, 2017December 1, 2020

A bicycle ride along the Trail of Rama part III

The temple dedicated to Hanuman was again, as in Chitrakoot, located 600 steps up a magnificent hill. Parking my bike at its base, I started my ascent, trying to block out the fierce heat, focusing only on the task ahead.

With each step up, I could see more of Hampi, and its beauty continued to captivate me. After about 400 steps I started to tire. The morning of cycling had started to take its toll, and so I stopped, taking some time to appreciate all before me. However, soon after, I was quickly overtaken by a pair of elderly women, wearing sandals and sarees. They stopped next to me and we started talking. Although conversation was hard to follow, it was what was not said by these two that spoke to me. Although the way they held themselves indicated a fatigue, their faces would not show it. Wearing only a smile and bright eyes, it seemed as though it was a journey they had completed many times before, and would complete many times again. It reminded me about the power of this myth, this legend, and how alive it is to all those that follow it.

Reaching the top, finally, I was greeted by a small structure. It stood humbly admist the strength of the wind. Hanuman is the the son of Vayu, the God of Wind, and so feeling its presence, I couldn’t help but think that it was Vayu still watching over his son. Once Hanuman was struck by the weapons of the God Indra, and in his anger Vayu took away all the air on the earth. If that was his anger, then maybe this breeze was his blessing.

I walked into the temple and encountered a single man singing the Hanuman Chalisa, and it filled me with joy. For the few verses I knew, we sung together, and we smiled.

Hanuman is strength and power. He is will and determination. He is wisdom and devotion. He is a friend to all those around him. Hanuman is the one who as a child, thought the sun was a mango, and desperate to eat it, flew up to the heavens to take hold of it. Hanuman is joy, and he brings hope to all those that follow him.

In all the places I have been to that have Hanuman as their focus, I have seen this. His birth place was a reminder of all of this and his humility. The very fact that at its centre rested a shrine to Rama, Sita and Lakshmana, with Hanuman only on the periphery is perhaps the best example of this.

I have realised that perhaps Hanuman is often depicted in orange, because that is the colour of the feelings he inspires in those around him. His bright, illuminating glow cannot help but fill the hearts of those who follow him, even as the sun upon rising, will bring light to the darkest parts of the Earth. I understood why those two women I had seen climbing the hill did so with a smile, in spite of the immense difficulty it posed them. They wanted to see the birthplace of Hanuman, the orange beacon at the top of this hill of Hampi.

Feeling a complete contentment at how my day had unfurled, I began my climb down the hill, looking out onto the vast landscape. The rocks still exuding their orange glow, one that I understood so much more now. I had one more stop on my trail and that was Rishyamookh hill, the location where Rama met Hanuman and Sugriva for the first time.

Asking a few locals for direction, I eventually found a quite ashram, and again leaving my bike, I crossed a small stream and encountered three Sadhus. One, with a beard so long that it tickled his belly button, another asleep on the ground, and a third who upon seeing me, opened up the small cave, which hosted icons of Hanuman and Sugriva. After appreciating this immensely powerful space, I exited, and was greeted by the third Sadhu.

I was again offered lunch, and after my experience at Sharabhanga’s ashram, it was a lunch I was happy to eat, and one welcomed all the more by my stomach which seemed to growl in anger at the rough morning it had had. However, it was soon soothed, and keen to ask questions, I started talking to the third Sadhu, perhaps still working off the excitement the day had provided me with. He smiled, and looked at me.

‘Eat first, talk after.’

I laughed to myself and continued to eat. A few minutes had passed and he said a few words to me. I replied, and thinking it was okay to talk again, I continued enthusiastically to ask questions.

‘Eat first, talk after,’ he repeated.

I finished my food, and seeing the coconut and the ash I found myself knowing exactly how to clean my plate, and after doing so, I was able to ask my questions.

We discussed what happened here, how long he had been here, and what he thought of the Ramayana. I could tell that with all his heart he believed the Ramayana was true, and with this sheer conviction telling me all I needed to know, I thanked him and set off back to my guest house. It has been a long morning. I was hot, tired and my legs had started to cramp up with a few hundred metres to get back. But, I could not have wished for a more perfect day. I had set out wishing to see only a few places, but the wealth of the Ramayana showed itself to me, and for that, I am grateful.

After seeing a few more sights in the morning, I said goodbye to Hampi. It’s orange glow will always remind me of the joy that Hampi brings when on the Trail of Rama.

April 10, 2017December 1, 2020

Mahabalipuram

My next stop was Chennai. I only had one full day here before moving onto Madurai, and I had decided to visit Mahabalipuram, now called Mamallapuram.

It was about 60km from where I was staying, but feeling adventurous, I had decided to further experience the precarious buses of India. Walking from my hostel, I quickly took my first bus. It was an intercity bus, and at 7am it was bursting its seams. People crowded in and often had to wriggle through entire groups of people, who stood obstinately as if claiming that section of the bus as their own, just to exit the vehicle.

I eventually reached the bus station and I boarded my second bus which would take me from Chennai to Mahabalipuram. Hoping I had the right ride, knowing that I could really never be sure, I stepped onto the bus, and I thankfully enjoyed a two hour journey first through the burgeoning streets of Chennai, and then across the East Coast road, which hugged the ocean beside it, until it reached Mahabalipuram.

It is one of India’s oldest landmarks, and features an impressive array of intricate carvings and magnanimous sculptures thought to have their origins in the 7th century. It is home to the iconic Shore Temple, and the five Rathas. It holds the wonderfully named Krishna’s Butterball, and the enchanting depiction of Arjuna’s Penance.

On their own, any of these works are impressive, yet together they create a truly magical place, Mahabalipuram.

After taking some time to find my bus back, I was swiftly on my way home. I had been worrying about how I was going to get to Mahabalipuram before the trip. I was worried I would not be able to find the buses, or that for whatever reason I would not be able to get there. But, yet again, I realised how needless my worry was. I realised that I did not need to control every aspect of my trip. Things just seem to work, and I think for the first time on my trip, I was enjoying letting them do so.

April 10, 2017December 1, 2020

Sāmpati

After journeying to south, the group led by Hanumān had spent spent weeks trying to find Sita without success.

Dejected that they had been unable to fulfil the wishes of their King Sugrīva, and their friend Rāma, the monkey’s contemplated staying in the south, fearful of the consequences their return without success would yield.

Angada, the son of Vāli, was instead intent on fasting until time brought his death, and made his point clear to Hanumān. After doing so, Angada sank down, weeping on the ground.

Observing this whole event, was Sāmpati, the King of the vultures, and the brother of Jatāyu, Rāma’s friend who had died trying to save Sita from Rāvana. Sāmapti had no wings, and so he initially watched in delight, seeing all the food that had walked his in way in the form of the monkey’s from Kishkinda.

The monkey’s, in their state of dejection, began recounting the pain that had surrounded Rāma. They recounted the exile of Rāma, death of Daśaratha, the abduction of Sītā, the fall of Jatāyu, and the killing of Vāli. All of this they remarked, the result of one boon, granted by Daśaratha, to his wife.

Sāmpati, sat overhearing the conversations below. It has been many years since he heard news of his brother, and so hearing the name Jātayu, filled the vulture with a renewed sense of excitement and life. However, the longer he listened to the monkeys below, did he realise that his brother, dearer to him than life itself, had been killed at the hands of Rāvana.

Calling on the monkey’s ‘ who had given up all hope of life, Sāmpati revealed himself, and asked to hear the story of his brother’s death. Sāmpati weeped at hearing the story, and full of grief recounted his own, and how he had lost his wings, and been separated from his brother.

Sāmpati and Jatāyu set out one day to conquer Indra. They succeeded, and on their return they flew near to the sun ‘encircled by its aureole of rays and illuming heaven’. However, Jatāyu began to fly to close to the sun, growing faint. This reminded me of the story I used to hear as a child of Daedalus and Icarus. Icarus of course, flew to close to the sun, his wings melted, and he died. Sāmpati, continuing his own story noted how upon seeing his brother ‘tormented’ by the sun’s rays, he covered him with this wings out of affection. Jatāyu fell to the ground, but survived with his wings intact, whilst Sāpati’s wings were burnt. He fell to the mountains, separated from his brother where he continued to live unable to leave, without his wings.

Something that interested me here was how Daedalus believed himself unable to save his sun, fearful his own wings would burn. Yet, in the Rāmayana, a story that really teaches one about virtue and duty, Sāmpati saves his younger brother, sacrificing himself in the process. Whilst Icarus and Daedalus has became a tale that warns one of being too ambitious, the story of Jatāyu and Sāmpati is one that tells of an older brother’s duty to his younger sibling. The Rāmayana is of course full of the duties an older brother has to his younger, and the foremost is that he should look after him. Sāmpati, losing his wings, lost his kingdom too. He lost his strength, his prowess and his brother, and fell to the mountains, ‘seeking death alone’. This was the sacrifice he made for his brother. It also reminded me that the Rāmayana is much more than just a myth.

Sāpati also revealed how his son told him he had seen Rāvana abucting Sītā, had seen him take her to Lankā, and told the monkeys how they could get there.

These words as they touched the ears of the monkey’s tasted as sweet as nectar. In a moment, the monkeys, who were willing to starve themselves to death, found hope in the words of Sāmpati. However, the Rāmayana also teaches that virtue and adherence to duty is rewarded. When he fell to the ground, Sāmapti found the ashram of the Sage Niśākara. The sage, knowing what Sāmpati had done, offered him a choice.

He offered to give Sāmpati back his wings there and then. He also added, that if he waited, his wings would return, and he could also help all of mankind by telling Angada where Sītā was, helping the cause of Rāma who needed to defeat Rāvana, helping all of humanity in turn. Sāmpati told the monkeys before him that he had waited 8000 years for their arrival, so he could perform his duty. He told them how his determination to perform his duty inspired him, and dispelled any agony he felt at his own position.

As Sāmapti told his story, a pair of beautiful wings shot forth from his sides. As they did, he felt his strength return to his old body. He was filled with an unequalled ecstasy of delight.

Upon seeing the seemingly impossible happen before their eyes, the monkeys knew that their own purpose could too be achieved. And so, as Sāmpati flew to the skies, the monkey’s continued on their task, with a new sense of hope.

Sāmpati is often brushed over in any telling of the Rāmayana, and his story is rarely fully told. I always thought the Rāmayana was about Rāma. But what has struck me is the extent to which it is not. The story of Sāmapti espouses the message at the core of this ancient text. It places an adherence to duty above all else, and it illustrates the true joy that can be taken from this journey too.

I certainly know I am grateful, to have read the story of Sāmpati, a true hero of the Rāmayana.

April 10, 2017December 1, 2020

Madurai, Mandirs, and Masala Dosa

Madurai. My Rough Guide to India describes it as the Athens of the East. Steeped in India’s history, Madurai has been for many thousands of years, the spiritual capital of the South. Life revolves around the Menaakshi Temple, complete with four majestic towers, boasting a vivid spectrum of colours that are made even brighter by the ever shining sun. These designs can be seen throughout the South, even if that little bit grander here. Madurai is also said to be the final place where Rāma amassed his army before heading to Lānka.

I had again been worried about visiting the main temple. My trip to Viswanath in Varanasi earlier although illuminating, was overwhelming, and I wondered if Madurai would be similar. However, as time went on my worrying seemed to dissolve into the air around me, and by the time I was setting off to see the temple, I was only looking forward to it. Furthermore, South India is a wonderful place to visit. The hotter climate seems to warm everything up, including the kindness of those in the area. I found it incredible how stark the difference was between the two parts of India.

In the South, the mandirs were different, the people friendlier and more relaxed, clothes were different, the food was different, even the language was different. In fact, arguably the only thing that was the same was the currency. I was surprised every time I was asked to pay in rupees.

The outer beauty of the temple was matched only, and in some places superseded, by its inner mystique. Recalling it was known as ‘the Athens of the East’ I did strangely feel transported upon entering the heart of the temple, whose overall structure and customs probably have not changed for as long as it has been standing. The inner corridors were filled with a dim glow and musky air, offset only by the colours that illuminated the walls and the ceilings.

After a humbling darshan, I continued to explore the maze of pillars and corridors, that held in them an air of timelessness. The brightness of the sun struck my eyes as I exited the heart of the temple, and turning around to appreciate the wonder before me, I again felt only grateful to be doing what I was.

Before heading back, I spent the rest of the day visiting other Mandirs dotted around Madurai, which although may not have had the same grandeur were certainly no less wonderous.