Lord of the Stars

I came to Udupi just to see the Krishna temple. I don't know much about the town but something about the two paragraphs my guide book gave it caught my attention and a few people I randomly met confirmed that it is a temple to visit.

My day got off to a slow start, sleeping in a bit and checking email, so it was around 11am by the time I made it to the temple. The area around the temple is closed off to traffic, but even as a pedestrian area it is bustling with people and vendors and cows. I am looking for the entrance and get distracted by the temple chariots. I am debating whether to take pictures now (I hate thinking I'll come back and do that later, to do lists are no good) or after I go in the temple (for reasons of respect, I'd rather not have my camera out as I am headed in to the temple). Suddenly a guy appears next to me and tells me I should come back tonight at 7pm if I want to see the chariots in action. We talk about the chariots and my sari. I figure out that he's a guide. I had considered hiring a guide at some of the larger temples I'd been to, but I had never been approached by one. I like Pranesh and decide to go for it. Excellent decision. Not only did he tell me tons of things I would not have known otherwise, he took me to see lots of places I would have missed altogether. We saw eight temples, he recommended a place for dinner (the restaurant that supposedly invented the masala dosa), we met up to see the chariots (he made sure I had a front row spot), and he knew a spot for a good cup of chai (lots of cardamom) before I grabbed my bags and headed for the train station. Here are some highlights:

Mahathobara Lord Sri Anantheshwara: a Shiva temple right next door to the Krishna temple, some 1300 years old. Pranesh is explaining a 108 details: why Hindus wear the tilak on their forehead, why you ring the bell in front of the deity when you pray, how to identify the different gods (there are old, worn out looking paintings that ring the temple, some of the details are hard to make out but the colors are dark and rich and beautiful), where the holy water that the priests give you in the temples comes from and why people drink it and splash it on their heads.

Chandramouleeshwara: another Shiva temple right next to the first, this one is about 1400 years old. Apparently Vishnu had cursed this spot (I'm not sure why), so the Moon (Chandra) came to pray to Shiva. Shiva was pleased and lifted the curse, so the temple was built and the town was named Udupi (Lord of the Stars) in honor of the moon.

Sri Krishna temple: I love this story. Originally, the main deity in the temple faced the opposite direction from where it points now and the door was on the opposite side of the temple. I'm not sure how long ago, but at a time when members of lower castes were not allowed into the temples, there was a man named Kanakadas who sat behind the temple and payed to Krishna every day. Kanakadas was a Dalit (once known as Untouchables), the mistreated class below the four main castes. One day, as though an earthquake shook the ground, the back wall of the temple fell and Krishna turned around to face the spot where Kanakadas prayed, in honor of his devotion. It remains facing that way to this day.

This is the second richest temple in India. You can see it in the many sumptuous details but there is still a certain sweetness to it that I like best.

The kitchen here feeds 20-25,000 people EVERY day, and the food is cooked on wood fires. Pranesh takes me to eat in one of the four dining halls. We can't eat in the main hall, with the kitchen attached, because Pranesh is wearing Western style pants. Since the kitchen prepares prasad, only dhoti wearers are admitted (sarong-like dhotis being the traditional, formal menswear in India). The hall is rectagular, and the granite floor alternates beween dark gray granite and long, white, slightly raised sections. We sit on the floor along the edge of the white part, a row of at least 100 people, facing the gray with another row sitting behind us facing the other way. Someone comes along and puts a banana leaf in front of us. Then the rice is served, followed by dhal and sambar (traditional food in south a pinch of salt, and a sweet. The food is delicious by any standards but downright astounding for a kitchen feeding tens of thousands of people for free every day. When we finish, the bananas leaves are picked up, and as we leave to wash our hands, I see a man with a giant squeegee sweeping up the rice that is strewn everywhere and preparing for the next row of hungry pilgrims.

Among the other great things we see in this huge temple complex (it didn't look so big from the outside!) are the Goshala, the cowshed that houses the temple's 180 bovine (Krishna is a cowherder and as a young boy was fond of stealing butter) and a meditation hall with the 18 chapters of the Bhagavad Gita engraved in Sanskrit along its walls. I also say hello to the temple elephant, who gives me a blessing and a bonk on the head in exchange for a coin (it is one thing to give an elephant food, like the first temple elephant I met, but I am extra impressed by the ones who are dexterous enough to take coins and bills without accidently inhaling them).

After the Krishna temple, we hop a bus to visit the Ganesh temple in Kumbhashi, which is nearly all the way back to Kundapura, where I nearly stayed the night before. I have to laugh.

Sri Ganesh Temple: This temple was built to thank Ganesh for delivering the sword (ashi) that Bhimi used to defeat the demon Kumba (hey! the town's name is Kumbhashi!) who was terrorizing the area. Now the temple is known as the spot to bring new vehicles to be blessed. As we walk up, there is a cute, sporty blue car garlanded and smoking (from the incense in the front grill). A priest walks around the car touching each side with a coconut, which collects the bad spirits, and then the coconut is shattered on the ground. A lemon is placed in front of each tire (apparently lemons also attract the bad energy), and the car is pulled forward a few feet, splattering lemon juice in the process. I look around and realize the entire area is covered in flattened lemons. While we are there, a motorbike, autorickshaw, and giant truck all get the same treatment.

I think we visited four more temples after that: an Ayyappa temple (sometime I will have to tell the story of Ayyappa, I had not heard of him before coming to India but he has been a central part of my experience here and has become one of my favorite gods), a Hari-Hara temple (that's Vishnu & Shiva together, the main altar has two little deities together-- very cute), Vishnu, and Kali/Durga (Kali is a pretty fierce goddess, so you are supposed to view the deity through a mirror first to help dissapate the energy).

Pranesh is a great guide, but I am on temple overload. I head back to the hotel to splash some water on my face and pack my bags. Then I grab dinner and do a solo tour of the three main temples (it is nice to have a guide, but it lacks the immediacy of visiting the temple alone) before meeting Pranesh for the evening excitement. I am not sure I can do justice to the event with words, but I promise the pictures are spectacular. I say "chariot" but don't picture Ben Hur. These things are massive: like a hot air balloon on wooden wheels taller than me. The deities are carried out on a palanquin and loaded in the chariot with a priest. Then 200 some odd people materialize and start pulling the long ropes. The chariot slowly starts to roll-- I wonder how this heaving mass turns corners-- and begins a loop around the square. There are giant, whirling, twirling puppets and the elephant and little boys dressed as demons and fire. After the fireworks in the street (once again I think that India must have many fewer liability lawsuits than the US), Pranesh checks that I am barefoot and tells me I can help pull the chariot, so I join in. With the chariot at a standstill, it feels like we are pulling on a mountain. I doubt it will ever move, but then it does. As it picks up speed, momentum makes our task easier and easier. Until it mysteriously stops, and we start the process all over again. As we near the starting point, I feel something warm and squishy and learn an important lesson: even in giant crowds, with Krishna's cows on the loose, you better watch your step.